Duty and Desire
by Elise de Sallier
Summary: Alice Brandon, the village of Forkton's resident midwife and herbalist, would like nothing more than to ease the suffering of Jasper Whitlock's young son, Peter. But the Masen estate manager, a proud if fallen gentleman, is as prejudiced against her illegitimacy as he is her "witchy" profession. (Predominantly Alice and Jasper with some Edward and Bella.)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello Again!**

 **I hope you enjoy reading the next book in my Hearts of Honour series, Duty and Desire, as much as I did writing it. We get to visit our beloved Edward and Isabella while spending time with some characters I'm hoping you will come to love as much as I do. The original version of the first book, Passion and Propriety, is now available for sale on Amazon in both ebook and print format for anyone who would like a copy.**

 **My posting schedule for my stories is Wednesday, Friday and Sunday for Duty and Desire, and Tuesday and Saturday for Viral Sensation. Thanks so much for all your support. Thanks also for the kind words regarding my poor, fractured leg. I don't fancy two months of not being able to use it, but at least I'll get lots of writing done! :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Accord**

Alice Brandon pulled her cloak more firmly around her shoulders. The blustery wind tugged strands of her long, dark hair free from her bun and used them to whip her face. To add insult to injury, the misty rain which was falling when she embarked on this journey, and could have been easily borne, was now falling from the sky in a steady stream. Several icy drips worked their way through her worn, woollen wrap, sending shivers down her spine.

What joy.

As the midwife and herbalist for the village of Forkton, Alice traipsed around the countryside in all sorts of weather, but that didn't mean it wasn't a trial. She really should have taken up Edward, the viscount Masen, on his offer to supply her with a horse-drawn chaise. Although, how she would find time to care for a horse was beyond her. There were so few hours left in her day already, certainly not enough for a decent night's sleep on the rare occasion she wasn't called out to assist with a birth or to tend someone too ill to be left until morning. If the viscount knew the reason for her reluctance, he would probably offer to pay for a stable boy to assist her. But Alice didn't like to feel beholden, not even to her best friend's husband. She huffed a breath in frustration, considering it was somewhat unavoidable since he now funded her work.

Startled by a horse's whinny, she looked over her shoulder to see—as if conjured from her imagination—just the sort of hooded chaise Edward had suggested would be suitable for her needs. Unfortunately, the driver was more likely to appear in her nightmares than her daydreams: Jasper Whitlock, retired military officer and the Masen Viscountcy's new estate manager.

"Get in. You can ride with me the rest of the way up to the manor."

Alice bristled at her unwelcome rescuer's tone even as the wind tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet. Personable in appearance, Mr Whitlock was blessed with vivid blue eyes, golden hair and a close-trimmed beard. While well-respected by the local populace, he had a knack for rubbing Alice the wrong way. If she were a cat, she would have hissed.

"Don't dawdle, Miss Brandon," he added in his typically autocratic manner. "There's no point getting any wetter than you already are, unless you enjoy impersonating a drowned rat?"

Alice narrowed her eyes. She would have given a great deal to be able to turn her back on the obnoxious man and keep walking, but a not-so-distant clap of thunder heralded a strengthening in the storm. If only she hadn't misread the weather.

"Oh, very well," she muttered, clambering aboard with little of the grace she was normally ascribed in either movement or demeanour. To make matters worse, the chaise's bench seat was barely wide enough to accommodate them both. Leaving a respectable distance between them simply wasn't possible, as she was forced to squeeze into the narrow space between the sidewall and Mr Whitlock's immovable thigh. Thankfully, he made no comment about her damp skirt pressing against him. He merely jerked his chin towards the prancing bay gelding.

"I'm sorry I couldn't climb down to assist you, but Ned's hard to handle in this weather."

After placing her bag next to her feet, Alice gave him a withering glance. "That would have been unnecessary, as I am quite capable of getting into a vehicle unaided. It also would have been unwise, as it's plain to see you need to keep both hands on the reins lest your horse bolt. I have no desire to be bowled over and left face-down in the mud."

"Neither do I, which is why I wasn't fool enough to attempt the manoeuvre." Mr Whitlock's nostrils flared. "I was merely trying to explain my less-than-gentlemanly behaviour," he added while urging his horse to trot up the steep, muddy road that led to Masen Manor

"Since we both know I am not a lady, the gesture would have been wasted. Unless you're saying you would show the same courtesy to your average, run-of-the-mill servant?"

"If a woman needed my help, then I would render assistance regardless of her station," he replied, biting off each word as if displaying the early signs of lockjaw.

While the man was as irritating as a prickle in one's shoe, Alice couldn't deny she received an inordinate amount of pleasure from goading him.

"I beg your pardon?" She raised her voice despite having heard him clearly. "You need to remember to enunciate your words, Mr Whitlock, if you're going to persist in covering your mouth with facial hair. It has a muffling effect."

"My mouth is not _covered_ with facial hair," he spluttered. "My moustache and beard are perfectly groomed and— Oh, never mind."

He faced forward with a jerk of his head, and Alice was hard-pressed to stifle a smirk. Just as she had hoped, a slash of red tinged the cheekbones above his equally reddish beard. Truth be told, she was quite partial to well-groomed facial hair, and Mr Whitlock's efforts complemented his fashionably styled locks and sparkling eyes in a more than acceptable manner. Not that she would ever divulge her opinion. The man was too arrogant by half, likely due to the admiring looks he received from the district's maidens. And matrons, for that matter. The retired and widowed major was not yet thirty years old. Between his handsome appearance and military bearing, he must be aware he set female hearts fluttering wherever he went. Not _hers_ , of course. Alice couldn't abide the man.

Wedged beside him on the narrow chaise seat, with shoulder, hip, and thigh in unavoidable contact with his, she attributed her own increase in heartbeat to having trudged halfway up the hill from the village to the manor in trying conditions. The heat coming off Mr Whitlock's body mitigated the cold in an undeniably pleasurable fashion, but so would snuggling up to a large dog if it were dry. And the chances of being bitten would be less likely.

Alice's best friend, Isabella, now Lady Masen, thought it a pity the two were at such continual odds, since Mr Whitlock was not only her husband's estate manager but also his closest acquaintance. That both Alice and Mr Whitlock were engaged in work designed to improve the lives of the inhabitants of the Masen viscountcy—Alice as its healer and midwife and Mr Whitlock as the representative of the district's largest employer and landlord—added weight to Isabella's argument. But they were too dissimilar to achieve any degree of amicability. Nor was it necessary. Avoiding the man, when she wasn't taking ill-concealed delight in provoking him, was the better course of action. Although not nearly as much fun.

When Mr Whitlock made no further comment, Alice shot a glance his way. From the tension emanating from his body, she deduced he was holding on to his civility with ruthless determination.

 _Good for him_ , she thought, not that she was likely to forget, or forgive, his previous lapses in a hurry.

An uncomfortable sensation slithered down Alice's spine—her conscience making its presence felt rather than the damp this time. Inferring his personal grooming was deficient had been a low blow. The man could be downright unreasonable, but it wasn't as if he were devoid of extenuating circumstances. Nor was Alice entirely blameless. While she might not have been the one to instigate the animosity between them, she had played her part in its continuation.

Releasing a sigh, Alice's better self urged her to at least try to cut him some slack. She was just about to ask after his situation, a risky business considering their history, when he broke the silence.

"On your way to see Lady Masen?"

Alice nodded.

Mr Whitlock's already impressive chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. "Is she . . . on the mend?"

"It looks that way."

"Thank God." He released a long sigh.

"Indeed," Alice murmured, unsurprised he didn't apportion credit to any other source. The effort she had gone to in saving Isabella's life had been substantial. She'd had to work even harder to save her friend's husband, Edward, before her, when he had returned from the war mortally wounded, or so the army surgeons had insisted. But it would be a cold day in hell before Mr Whitlock acknowledged the part the village herbalist had played in both miracles.

"You're on your way to visit the viscount?" she asked when he said no more.

"His stable master first, then Masen if he can be dragged away from his wife's side." Mr Whitlock's mouth twisted, and they shared a smile. It was an unprecedented event, but Alice put down to coincidence the odd sensation it engendered in her stomach, as she had missed her luncheon.

"Masen is rather besotted." She shrugged, one of the habits she was free to enjoy since she was no longer a recognised member of polite society.

"Indeed." Mr Whitlock's smile faded. "And he has been terribly worried, as have we all."

The sincerity in his voice was unmistakeable, and Alice's expression sobered. "Hopefully, I'll be able to lay those fears to rest today."

Their gazes met, and for the second time in the short ride they were of one accord, Mr Whitlock's concern as genuine as her own.

~D&D~

" _Must_ I endure another dose? I am feeling much better."

"I'm afraid so," Alice said, her tone brooking no nonsense. That Isabella felt up to arguing was a good sign. That and her now blessedly cool brow boosted Alice's confidence her friend was over the worst of her childbed fever.

"But I don't want to." Isabella crossed her arms, and Alice struggled to hide her smile. Rather than making her more matronly, marriage and motherhood had taken years off her friend's demeanour. Still, Alice had never expected to see the previously stodgy spinster acting like a petulant child.

"Now, sweetheart." Edward leaned down to kiss his wife on the forehead. "If Alice says you need to keep taking the tonic for a little longer, then take it you must."

"Oh, you." Isabella huffed. "I bet you told her to keep dosing me as payback for when _you_ were forced to take the rotten stuff."

"It is vile." The sixth Viscount Masen smirked before shooting Alice an apologetic glance. "But also, effective."

Alice wasn't bothered by the remark. The herbal tonic she had prescribed to fight Isabella's fever was the same one she had used to save the viscount when he'd returned from the war with his arm mangled by a French shell casing. Undeniably bitter, the tincture consisted of ancient herbs steeped in garlic. First concocted during the plague years, it was by far the most powerful weapon Alice had to use in her never-ending battle against disease and death. Many times, she lost, but sometimes she won.

Watching her best friend smile adoringly at her husband, Alice was glad this was one of the latter occasions. When Edward leaned down to give his wife yet another kiss, Alice shook her head. Witnessing displays of affection was a risk one had to take when visiting the unconventional Lord and Lady Masen.

"But I am better _,_ aren't I?" Isabella looked to Alice while tugging Edward down to sit beside her on the bed. "The fever has broken, and my belly is no longer tender."

Alice nodded her agreement while measuring another dose of the _vile_ concoction into a glass. "You're making excellent progress, but I want you to stay on the tonic for a few more days to be on the safe side."

Alice would not be taking any chances with her best friend, the only member of the local society not to abandon her when Alice had been tossed from her home upon the death of her father, Lord Brandon. She had feared for Isabella's life from the moment she had suspected Isabella was falling for the returned viscount while nursing him back to health. The curse that had plagued the Masen family had caused the death of every viscountess for five generations, either at the time of or soon after the birth of the next Masen heir. Alice had been dismayed when her best friend had wed the recovered viscount. When she had become with child, despite Edward's best efforts to prevent such a disaster from occurring, an unexpected bond had formed between the village healer and the despairing lord. Losing Isabella to the curse was a blow from which she doubted either of them would have recovered.

Alice had been focused on the additional risks inherent in Isabella's delivering what Alice had thought was an extra big baby, courtesy of Isabella's larger than average husband. So focused, she had missed the fact her friend had been carrying twins. The births of David—a good-sized babe by any standard—followed by his much smaller sister, Elizabeth—a complete surprise—had proven the curse was broken. The previous Masen wives only ever delivered _one_ child before their demise, a son. But that hadn't meant Isabella was out of the woods. Weakened by the long and exhausting labour, she had developed a fever a few days after the twins were born. Thankfully, three and a half weeks later, the danger seemed to have passed.

"Drink up." Alice handed her normally pragmatic patient the glass of dark liquid.

"Oh, very well." Isabella took a deep breath then downed her medicine, a shudder racking her body as she swallowed the last drop. "I swear it gets worse every time."

Edward chuckled. "You used to rebuke me for swearing when _I_ had to take it."

"Don't forget the spitting."

The couple shared another intimate look, but this time, rather than smile indulgently, Alice felt a lump form in her throat. She turned away and busied herself with putting the lid back on the bottle and returning it to the sideboard.

While happy her friend had found a husband, she couldn't help feeling a little wistful. Alice would never marry and have babes of her own. She did not regret her decision, not that she'd had a great deal of choice in the matter. But she had always assumed Isabella would journey with her on the path of spinsterhood, that's if the designation applied to one of Alice's dubious standing. She might live amongst ordinary folk, but having been raised and educated as a lady set her apart from them, stranding her in that strange nether land between gentry and commoner. It seemed whatever path she was on, Alice was destined to walk it alone.

Forcing any trace of self-pity from her expression, she turned back to her patient.

"As consolation for having to stay on the tonic a little longer, how would you like to spend some time out of bed today?"

Her offer was met with a beaming smile from Isabella and a predictable frown from Edward. When Isabella went to throw back the bed covers, he hastily placed a hand on his wife's arm.

"Are you sure it's not too soon?" he asked Alice. "We wouldn't want to risk a relapse."

"I'd be more worried about death from boredom if I have to stay in bed for another day," Isabella muttered, although her expression softened when her husband flinched. "I promise not to overdo it, and I will take a nap before dinner without complaint, but I only get to see the babies when they're brought in for me to nurse. I'm desperate to view them sleeping together in their crib."

"It is lovely," Alice agreed with a soft smile. The only way Edward and the nannies had been able to coax the fractious twins to sleep was to ensure they were close enough to hold hands, a sight that could melt the hardest of hearts. "And a little walking around will do you good, as you're sure to be stiff after so long in bed."

Helping her friend put on her robe, Alice sent Edward a reassuring look. She couldn't blame him for being wary, as after the euphoria of the births, Isabella's succumbing to fever had been a frightening development.

Once in the nursery, Alice spent a moment admiring the sleeping babes before informing the happy parents it was time for her to depart. Her great aunt was feeling poorly, and she didn't like leaving her alone for too long.

"May I have a word before you go?" Isabella asked, leaving her husband by the cot and catching up with Alice at the door. "In _private,_ " she added in a whisper.

"Isabella?" Edward was afflicted with a limp and only partial use of one arm, but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Never you mind." Isabella shooed him away when he crossed the room. "I just need a moment with Alice . . . _alone_."

Leaving her husband with a puzzled frown on his face, Isabella waited until they were out in the hallway to question Alice further.

"It's only been a month, which I am aware is too soon, but I was wondering how long before it is safe to resume marital relations."

Alice raised a brow. "Keen, are we?"

"Not overly _._ " Isabella fanned her suddenly flushed cheeks. "Not _yet_ anyway."

"Edward's not pressuring you, is he?" Alice's teasing manner gave way to concern.

"Of course not." Isabella huffed. "You know how he is. If I told him we must wait six months, he wouldn't utter a word of complaint. I just wanted to find out if there is a specific time frame for these things. And, more importantly, if you know of any _safer_ methods than withdrawal for ensuring I don't become with child again too soon."

"You want more children?"

"In time." Isabella nodded before pulling a face. "If I can get Edward to agree that it is safe."

"That's a big _if._ " Alice couldn't imagine the viscount being willing to put his wife at risk again in a hurry, but if there was one thing she had learned as a midwife, it was that memories of even traumatic events tended to fade. "In the meantime, I suggest you wait another few weeks until you're feeling more like your old self and the infection is well and truly behind you. As to preventing conception, the only method I can suggest other than abstinence or withdrawal, a dicey proposition at best, is the insertion of a vinegar-soaked sea sponge. It's supposed to be quite effective, the acid neutralising the husband's seed, but I wouldn't recommend it until you're fully healed from the births."

Isabella winced. "That's a novel approach, but I think you're right about waiting a while. Ah well." She breathed a long sigh. "At least you're talking weeks, not months."

"You _are_ keen." Alice rolled her eyes, recalling some of the outrageous tales Isabella had insisted on telling her, extolling the joys of marital bliss.

"You would be just as keen if you had a husband as wonderful as mine," Isabella retorted before her face fell. "Oh, Alice, I am sorry. That was tactless of me. Although I am sure there are plenty of gentlemen who would come calling if they thought you were interested. Gentlemen willing to overlook . . ."

Isabella's enthusiasm was quelled by Alice's glare.

"Just as there were plenty of gentlemen before Edward, lining up to court you and your sisters when you all were devoid of dowry? Not that a dowry would improve my marital prospects, so don't go getting any ideas in that overly generous head of yours."

"But it would significantly reduce any objections a gentleman might have to considering you as a prospective bride." Isabella reached for her friend's hand. "You are an intelligent, beautiful woman, and I am sure if I were to ask Edward he could suggest some potential candidates—"

"Willing to marry the illegitimate daughter of a deceased lord, one whose family have abandoned her?" Alice gave a rueful snort. "My eligibility is irrelevant, Isabella, as you know I have no desire to wed."

"But marriage is wonderful, Alice. You've no idea what you're missing. _I_ certainly didn't. Will you at least think about it?"

"I have thought about it, and the last thing I need is a husband to tell me what I can and cannot do. How many gentlemen do you know that would allow their wives to practise midwifery?" Alice was unsurprised when Isabella dropped her gaze. "That's right. Not one. Not even your Edward would stretch the bounds of propriety that far, and we both agree he's something of an aberration."

"He _might,"_ Isabella said, though her expression was doubtful.

"Well, he doesn't have a benevolent twin, and I have no intention of spending my days waiting for an opportunity to stroke some gentleman's already overblown ego. It's the life of an unwed and, thankfully, independent woman for me."

~D&D~

"Whitlock, are you still here?"

At the sound of Masen's call, Jasper left the shadowed stall and met him in the wide central aisle of the stables.

"Just checking out your new stallion. He's a beauty."

"He should be. He cost me enough," Masen said before reaching to shake Jasper's hand. Technically, Jasper should bow to his employer and societal superior, but his previous role as the man's commanding officer blurred the lines of their current relationship.

"I take it Miss Brandon was able to deliver good news about your wife?"

Masen's grin was answer enough, but he went one step further, engulfing Jasper in a hug.

"Bloody marvellous news." He released Jasper only to pound his back with his right hand, which more than made up for his almost useless left.

"Steady on." Jasper's laugh faded, and concern coloured his tone. "You are _sure_ Her Ladyship's in the clear? You don't think you should get a second opinion?"

Masen stepped back. "I can't believe you still doubt Miss Brandon's abilities. Do you honestly think Dr Gerandy would have seen Isabella safely through the births of the twins, let alone the fever that followed?"

"Of course not. He's a drunken sot. But there are better physicians, properly trained—"

"Who would never have allowed me to stay with my wife for the births. Alice understood what it meant to Isabella to have me there, precedent be damned. She knew how to turn Elizabeth when she was stuck, and Isabella's lady's maid had the bright idea to, well, never mind. Sorry to go into details."

"That's perfectly all right," Jasper lied, doing his best to hide his squeamishness over the indelicate topic. "Miss Brandon seems a competent midwife, I'll give her that, but I do wish you wouldn't put your eggs all in one basket."

"Isn't that what you're doing?" Masen eyed him shrewdly as they made their way back to the manor during a break in the rain. "I don't see you trying anything with Peter other than conventional practices."

"Yes, but I've got the best physicians the country has to offer consulting on his case. Why would I seek the advice of some untrained village healer?"

"Why, indeed?"

Jasper tensed, but all he saw was concern in his friend's gaze. The argument was well worn and one he was in no mood to revisit. He had received word of a senior physician who might finally have the answer to what was ailing his son, but the cost of having the man travel from London to Forkton in a private carriage, and putting him up at quality inns along the way, was exorbitant. While he could all but guarantee Masen would offer to help if he knew how close to the bottom of the barrel his estate manager was scraping, Jasper's pride wouldn't allow it. Nor did he dare give his friend any opportunity to discourage him. He was holding onto hope by a fraying cord as it was.

"I suppose you still think I should employ a surgeon for the district?" Masen asked.

The issue was one about which Jasper felt strongly, compelling him to respond when he would have preferred a change of topic.

"I'll agree Miss Brandon and her assistants did a commendable job aiding the wounded after the last mining incident, but she's pushing the limits setting bones and stitching wounds. What if an amputation had been needed?"

"My guess is she would have managed it as well as she does everything else required of her." Masen raised a hand when Jasper would have remonstrated. "But you are right. Performing surgery on such a scale would likely see her before the courts."

"You'll consider advertising for a reputable surgeon?"

"If there is such a thing," Masen muttered. "I shall discuss the matter with Miss Brandon. Maybe we can find someone willing to work under the oversight of a female."

Jasper snorted, the odds so slim as to be non-existent. Not wanting to offend his employer by calling him on what he secretly thought was a foolhardy idea, he let the matter drop.

"About the _incident_." Masen paused when they reached the cover of the manor's portico. "Have there been any more?"

"Petty thefts, minor acts of vandalism, but nothing so severe. I've set guards on all the mines, the mills, and anywhere else I think more serious damage could be done."

Jasper was furious the sabotage was occurring on his watch and targeting a man who had already endured enough. It especially galled in the face of his employer's generosity, not to mention the measures Masen had implemented to make up for the damage inflicted by his predecessors.

"Are we any closer to finding the culprit?"

Jasper shook his head. "Whoever he is, he seems to be looking for something while making a proper nuisance of himself."

"Causing an accident at the flour mill that nearly cost lives is a hell of a lot more than a nuisance _,_ " Masen retorted. "We've lost enough men, and _boys,_ in those damned mines Crowley set up without my knowledge, proper approval, or even the most basic attempt at providing a safe environment. If it wasn't for the war office needing all the raw materials we can supply, I'd have shut them down long ago."

Jasper nodded at his employer's oft-repeated complaint. "We're doing what we can to improve conditions and taking care of the families that have lost fathers and sons."

"It's something, I suppose. But we need to find the perpetrator of these attacks, or a surgeon won't be all we require. Thornlie's undertaker has been overworked for too long."

Jasper didn't disagree. He was just relieved the morbid fellow wouldn't be needed at Masen Manor any time soon. With Lady Masen on the way to recovery, an air of suppressed jubilation permeated the hallways, as he accompanied his employer to his office. Even Houghton, the normally stoic butler, seemed ready to crack a smile.

Relieved for his friend, Jasper wished he could be confident his own situation would turn out so well.

 **~D &D~**

 **A nice long chapter to get us started with lots going on. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story. My thoughts, and some historical information some of you might find interesting, are located below.**

 **xx Elise**

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 **It's funny, as I don't like arguments in real life, but I quite enjoy Alice and Jasper's verbal sparring. I purposefully didn't mention Isabella's childbed fever in the last story, as I think we've all seen the poor woman suffer enough. Post birth infections were a huge cause of death during this era, as many doctors did not wash their hands or even change their clothes between assisting at births, as being bloodstained was a source of pride...and infection. While Alice would have been careful, I thought it quite likely that Isabella might have developed an infection after such a long and stressful labour. Thankfully, Alice's healing prowess and antibacterial herbal remedies have once again saved the day. Now if she can just get Jasper to take a chance on her 'witchy ways' to save his son!**

 **Anyone else have a chuckle at Bella's 'almost' eagerness to reinstate marital intimacies with her beloved husband? (There is a later scene, where it becomes apparent she has gotten her way, that I can almost guarantee will be high on the list of requested outtakes!)**

 **One of the Amazon reviewers of Passion and Propriety mentioned that my stories, while mostly historically accurate, have the feel of 'speculative fiction'. I'm not too proud to admit I had to go look that up. It means fantasy or otherwordly, and I can't deny my heroines, and heroes in Edward's case, are a tad forward-thinking for the times. The vinegar (or lemon juice) soaked sea sponge was a real thing with a very high protection rate against infection and conception. It was definitely in use during this era by women who chose, or were forced, to sell their bodies, but I have been unable to find any references for the method being used by married women. Death from both the dangers of childbirth and repeated pregnancies (many women bore ten or more children, some upward of twenty!) was very common, and I don't feel I can give my heroine's much of an HEA if they don't have any control over their fertility and their own bodies.**


	2. Bridges

**Thanks so much for supporting this new story! A couple of reviewers kindly (and somewhat confusedly) pointed out that I had included some random names in my A/N for the first chapter of Duty and Desire as well as in the last chapter of Passion and Propriety. It's because I am editing these stories for both fanfic, with all our lovely canon characters, and publication on Amazon in the original form, with another set of names entirely! I've got it sorted now, but please don't hesitate if you spot any other misnomers.**

 **xx Elise**

 **PS: I've got time on my hands with having to keep my leg up, so I thought 'why not post another chapter?'**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 2**

 **Bridges**

The ensuing weeks saw Masen's family improve in strength, while Jasper's continued to decline. Being careful not to wake his sleeping son, Jasper smoothed the blanket over Peter's frail body. It had been a particularly rough day, with the boy whimpering and moaning, plagued with aching ears and stomach cramps. He had barely managed a few mouthfuls of his supper. On top of that, he had been poked and prodded by the latest doctor from London, an esteemed lecturer at Guy's Hospital in Southwark.

Almost two years had passed since Jasper resigned his commission in virtual disgrace for putting the needs of his son ahead of his duty to King and country. His fellow officers thought he had taken leave of his senses. Even his own mother hadn't understood, declaring the boy could come live with her, so long as Jasper provided the staff to care for him, of course.

While he would never regret his decision, he still couldn't explain why he had done it. He suspected that spending most of his childhood watching his beloved eldest brother, Raymond, slowly waste away had likely played a part. Upon returning home after his wife's death, and discovering his then three-year-old son in much poorer health than he had been led to believe, his paternal instincts had been triggered to an unexpected degree. The thought of losing Peter, the way he had lost Raymond, was unthinkable. Protecting his son had become his priority, and Jasper had vowed to do anything, make whatever sacrifices were necessary, to see the boy safe and well.

Unfortunately, it was easier said than done.

Discovering his inheritance had been squandered by his surviving elder brother, Harold, hadn't aided his cause. The few funds remaining to Jasper had soon been exhausted consulting one physician after another in hopes of finding a cure for what ailed his son. With no choice but to engage in employment so as to sustain them, Jasper had swallowed his pride and taken the position as the Masen estate manager. It was a good thing, too. Between the costs of medical treatments and his other obligations, if it weren't for the generous salary he received, he would have succumbed to penury long ago. Not that the money had made much difference. The eminence of the physician's he inquired of, commensurate with the size of their fees, made no difference. Peter grew weaker.

A lump formed in his throat as Jasper mulled over the words of the latest doctor, a senior physician reputed to service the crown.

"I have drawn off as much blood as I dare, but I do not believe further purging will be of any benefit. If the foul humours weakening his body were going to be defeated in such a manner, it would have worked by now."

"What are you saying? What other treatments are there?"

"It is too late to administer a mercury tonic, not that I believe it would have been effective in this case," the doctor had replied to Jasper's demand. "I don't think there is anything that will save your boy. He has a wasting disease, and it's time you prepared yourself for the inevitable."

 _Inevitable._ Jasper shuddered at the memory of the word and brushed a stray lock of blond hair from Peter's face. He would not give up on his son; he just wished he knew what to do. He was a man of reason—of logic, for God's sake—but he had tried everything the scientifically trained medical physicians had to offer. The only other option was resorting to the old ways, but he had sworn never to put his trust in the nonsensical ramblings of a bunch of superstitious old wives.

Rubbing his chest to ease the growing pressure, Jasper recounted the doctor's prediction that Peter wouldn't see his sixth birthday.

He heaved a sigh. If there were any hope, any hope at all, Jasper would _never_ consider pursuing the alternative path, but what choice did he have? If only he hadn't so thoroughly burned the bridge that led to it.

After kissing Peter's forehead, he went in search of his housekeeper, Mrs Carter, and informed her he would be going out for the evening. He had been of two minds about accepting the invitation to dine with Lord and Lady Masen, wary of leaving Peter alone. The boy was in such a weakened state after this last round of bloodletting, that his face appeared paler than the pillow against which his head rested.

Neither had Jasper any desire to share a dinner table with the only other guest on the invitation list, Lady Masen's best friend, Miss Brandon. The woman irritated him to no end. At least, it had been some time since she had made any of her barely veiled comments regarding the "cruel and ineffectual treatments" utilised by the medical establishment, treatments to which she knew he was subjecting his son. It was as if she thought he wanted the boy to suffer.

It didn't help, he supposed, that the first time they had met, Jasper had been less than complimentary of Miss Brandon's methods and credentials. Introduced by Masen, who had raised the possibility the healer he credited with saving his own life might be able to help Peter, Jasper had gone instantly on the defensive. Miss Brandon had appeared more resigned than offended by his less-than-tactful rejection of her services, but it hadn't stopped her from expressing her opinion of his choice. The argument had raged between them ever since, subtly of course, with their mutually cutting remarks hidden behind a veneer of civility.

Well, _he_ tried to be civil. There were occasions when he didn't think she bothered at all.

Releasing a gusty breath, Jasper checked the straps on the harness connecting his mount to the estate manager's covered chaise. Unless it was raining, he usually rode, but he had an ulterior motive for choosing the slower mode of transport. He was still undecided about his course of action, but he wanted to be in the position to offer Miss Brandon a ride back to the village at the end of the evening. It would save their host from having to call for one of his carriages and give Jasper an opportunity to speak with her in private.

Admitting he needed the young woman's help to find an effective alternative treatment for his son's illness, if there was such a thing, was not something he looked forward to. He could raise the topic at dinner, but he would rather not have an audience when he was forced to humble himself. The chances of Miss Brandon going easy on him were negligible.

Stroking his beard, which he liked, even if the overly critical Miss Brandon did not, Jasper wondered if his sanity should be called into question.

A muffling effect, indeed.

~D&D~

"Mr Whitlock, how wonderful to see you." Lady Masen's greeting was as gracious as ever.

Jasper bowed low over her hand. "Thank you for the invitation, my lady. You are continuing to experience good health?"

"I am, indeed."

She exchanged a look with her husband that Jasper wasn't sure he was supposed to see before gesturing for him to take a seat in the opulent but cosy parlour—one of the manor's _smaller_ offerings. A quick glance in Masen's direction revealed a smug smile and a distinctive lessening in the hungry look he had noticed his friend wearing of late. Jasper's brows rose. The twins were almost two months old, so he supposed the couple may have resumed sharing a bed. He hadn't bothered to attempt such a reconciliation with his wife after Peter's birth, neither of them having had any desire to repeat the process that had led to their son's conception.

Putting aside thoughts of his own miserable experience with the institution, Jasper's moustache twitched at the ongoing evidence that the Masens' marriage was in good form. It may have begun under less than ideal circumstances, but rather than strangers creating an alliance in accordance with the will of their respective families, his friend had been well acquainted with his prospective bride. He had even admitted to possessing affection for her before they had wed. Considering the manner in which the then Miss Swan had looked at him in return, and continued to do so, much to Jasper's amazement, the feeling was apparently mutual.

Whatever the case, the unlikely couple had overcome numerous obstacles to form a loving bond, a rarity for those of their station. Cynical ex-officer Jasper might be, but it cheered him to see his previously downtrodden friend experiencing such a reversal of fortune. It was a testament to his excellent choice of bride.

Jasper had come to agree with Masen's conclusion that there was something to be said for marrying a grown woman rather than a child barely removed from the nursery. Maria had just turned seventeen when they'd wed. She had been terrified of marital intimacy and ill-equipped to deal with the stresses of being an officer's wife during wartime. Despite her complaints about his neglect, she had not been the least welcoming when he'd managed to finagle leave to visit her during her confinement or after Peter's birth. He had held no expectation that she should provide him with a second child, but still, she had cringed as if in fear whenever he had entered the room. Needless to say, he had not attempted to enter her bedchamber.

Jasper had hoped motherhood would be more to Maria's liking than marriage, but she had shown little preference for their son, choosing to hand Peter over to his nursemaid with only minimal involvement in his care. Spending her days socialising with the other officers' wives, she had readily accepted invitations to attend various dinners and dances of an evening. When Jasper had tentatively expressed the opinion that her dressmaker's bill seemed a tad exorbitant, as did her entertainment expenses, she had reacted in typical fashion with tears and accusations of heartlessness on his part.

"You are an officer and the second son of a baron," she had argued. "It is only fitting that I be dressed appropriate to our station. As to my entertaining costs, one is obliged to reciprocate when one receives so many offers."

"Yes, or one could stay _home_ occasionally and spend time with one's _son._ "

Despite coming close as he had dared to rebuking his easily provoked young wife, Jasper's words had had little effect. Maria had been pretty to look at, and she had enjoyed being the centre of attention. What she had _not_ cared for was her husband, but since he had rarely been around, it hadn't been much of an issue. That she hadn't cared for their son he found harder to comprehend.

When she was killed in a freak carriage accident during a late-night return from yet another party, Jasper had taken leave immediately to bury his wife and arrange for his son's nurture. Discovering the lad was doing far worse than Maria had indicated in her letters, he had struggled to forgive his wife for her neglect of the boy. At the same time, he had felt guilty for barely grieving her passing. He still did.

"We weren't sure you were going to be able to make it tonight," Masen said as he handed Jasper a pre-dinner drink.

"How did the visit go with the physician?" Lady Masen asked after coming to stand at her husband's side. "Was he the one you have been trying to convince to travel up from London?"

Jasper nodded, an upsurge of emotion making speech unwise. The backs of his eyes burned, and he glanced away, fighting to regain control.

"Please say hello to Peter from us both," Lady Masen added, filling the uncomfortable silence. "I assume he's not up to a visit?"

"Maybe in a few days." Jasper's throat opened enough for him to respond, but there wasn't anything he could do to hide the gruffness in his voice.

The butler announced the fourth member of their party, giving Jasper the distraction he needed to down his drink in one gulp. The interruption was welcome even if Miss Brandon's arrival was less so. After being embraced by her best friend, the young herbalist was warmly greeted by Masen before turning her attention Jasper's way.

"Mr Whitlock." She acknowledged him with the barest nod.

Normally he would respond in kind, but after taking a deep breath, he made a respectful bow.

"Miss Brandon. How do you do?"

Her brows rose at his polite greeting, and she studied him for a moment. Long enough for Jasper to feel heat rise in his cheeks.

"I am well, thank you," she said. "And you?"

Jasper shrugged, an inelegant reply, but he feared his voice would betray him if he spoke. Unused to his emotions being so close to the surface, he looked down at his glass, perturbed to find it empty.

"Another?" Masen asked, and Jasper nodded gratefully.

Miss Brandon turned aside to converse with Lady Masen, and Jasper sighed. It wasn't the first time he had blushed in response to the woman's arch stare, his fair complexion ever a nuisance. At least she had refrained from comment. The woman could be frank to the point of brutality, not that he generally behaved any differently in her company. He knew better, of course, courtesy of his nanny and then his tutor's instructions, not to mention his training as an officer. But Miss Brandon brought out a side to Jasper he had previously reserved for the battlefield.

With a bemused shake of his head, he nursed his second drink despite the almost overwhelming desire to down it as quickly as he had the first. No matter how tempting, dulling his senses, and wits _,_ wasn't an option in his current company. While Jasper imagined the Masen's would understand, given the circumstances, he doubted Miss Brandon would be as forgiving.

The woman was darn prickly, her manner at complete odds with her appearance, which was nothing like his preconceived notions of a midwife. Being far from matronly, she was young, slim, and undeniably pretty. On second thought, pretty was inadequate. Even beautiful didn't fit, as the word seemed too generic for Miss Brandon's particular brand of appeal. With her long, dark, worn up as was expected, almond-shaped green eyes, and creamy complexion, _exotic_ seemed the more appropriate descriptor. He supposed it fit for someone with the demeanour of a cactus.

After taking a much-needed second sip, Jasper joined the conversation. To his relief, Miss Brandon refrained from asking after Peter or making any disparaging remarks about the ineptitude of the medical establishment. Although with his hopes and finances now depleted, he was finally able to acknowledge, if only to himself, that she may have a point.

Masen would have lost his arm and still probably died if his care had been left in the hands of the military surgeons who oversaw such cases. Jasper shuddered at the memory of how many of his own men had suffered such fates. If it hadn't been for Miss Brandon's intervention, it was unlikely his friend would be alive to speak dotingly about his twin babies.

"David is possessing signs of being quite stoic," Masen said proudly once they were all seated at the dinner table. "He rarely cries, and he has a cheerful disposition."

"What about his sister?" Jasper asked. "Is she as placid?"

"Hardly," Lady Masen said with a wry smile. "She has the entire household wrapped around her little finger."

"That's because she is absolutely charming with just the _hint_ of a stubborn streak," Masen added. "Not unlike someone else I know."

"I won't ask to whom you are referring," his wife said with a sniff, "or point out that her father is guilty of spoiling her terribly."

"Spoiling her? But she's just a babe."

"Exactly," Miss Brandon interrupted their hosts' banter, emphasising her comment with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "You do realise that two-month-old babies are capable of little more than sleeping, feeding, crying, and _maybe_ an occasional smile?"

Lady Masen tsked and waved her hand. "We can't help it if our offspring are exceptional."

Masen smiled in agreement. "Elizabeth is the prettiest babe I have ever seen, and David is growing quicker than I would have believed possible."

"That's because he has an appetite like a horse!" Lady Masen grinned, her enthusiasm matching her husband's. "Elizabeth requires feeding more often, but she takes much less than her brother. Thank heavens there are two of us providing their sustenance, as I doubt I could manage it alone."

Jasper blinked, surprised that she would refer to the district's worst kept secret—that Lady Masen had taken on the unlikely task of nursing her babes herself. Jasper's wife had barely glanced at their new-born son. He could only imagine her response if she had been asked to put him to her breast.

"Dearest wife, I think you've embarrassed our guest." Masen tilted his forehead in Jasper's direction while Miss Brandon's lips curled in a mocking smile.

"Not at all, my lady," Jasper said to forestall Lady Masen's apology—and any disdainful comment Miss Brandon might have to offer. "I think it is admirable you are willing to care for your babes yourself. The twins are lucky to have such a devoted mother."

Lady Masen beamed and turned to her husband. "You were right, Edward. He is perfect for the role."

Jasper raised a brow. "Role?"

"We have a favour to ask," Masen answered for his wife, entwining their fingers. "Of you both."

Jasper glanced at Miss Brandon, wondering what favour could possibly involve the two of them. The Masen's were aware of the animosity between their friends, though he supposed he should have guessed something was up when they invited them both for dinner.

"Whitlock, Alice," Masen continued, despite the looks passing between his guests. "We would like you to consider accepting the roles of David and Elizabeth's godparents."

Jasper's jaw dropped. He should have seen it coming, as Masen was renowned for disregarding convention, but this was taking things too far. He might have been Masen's superior in the military, but since losing his inheritance, and along with it any chance of owning an estate of his own, Jasper barely passed as a gentleman. As for Miss Brandon's position in society . . .

"That is very kind of you," the lady in question answered while Jasper was still gathering his wits. "But I don't think the two of you have thought this through."

"Now, Alice—"

"For heaven's sake, Isabella," Miss Brandon said, her tone hardening. "David and Elizabeth are members of the nobility. I'm no longer even a member of polite society, if I ever truly was. Quite aside from my less-than-pristine lineage, you can't have a practising _midwife_ as their godmother—"

"Or an estate manager for their godfather."

Miss Brandon looked at Jasper with surprise. "Well, I don't know about that." She shook her head before addressing their hosts. "But I do know that _I'm_ not right for the role."

"You are perfect for the role, both of you." Masen leaned forward in his seat. "You are two of the finest people we know. Isabella and I can't think of anyone else we would rather have overseeing our children's spiritual wellbeing, or to stand in for us if something were to take us from them."

"What about Isabella's family?" Miss Brandon persisted. "Her sisters?"

Lady Masen nodded. "Rosalie and Tanya will always be there for their niece and nephew. But, Alice, you are my best friend. I want you to have a significant role in my children's lives."

"And let's face it, Whitlock." Masen's expression turned rueful. "You are my one and _only_ friend."

Swallowing hard, Jasper turned to face Miss Brandon. At any other time, he would have said it was a terrible idea, but he was looking for a way to mend their bridges not throw ashes to the wind. He opened his mouth to express his tentative agreement when she blurted the words he had often thought but, as a gentleman, would never have spoken aloud.

"But we can't stand each other!"

 **~D &D~**

 **I do love this Alice. She's based on my great-grandmother who was a feisty lady by all accounts, though I only recall her being very kind and with an incredible garden. She was a herbalist in the late 1800s and early 1900s on the Goldfields of outback Western Australia, so quite a colourful character. She lived to 94. Her daughter, my grandmother, was even more acerbic, but I loved her dearly. I use her maiden name (her grandfather was French) for my author name. She lived to 96. Neither of them suffered from ill health until their final year or so. I wish I had half their health and even a quarter of their stamina!**

 **In this chapter, we got to know Jasper a little better with some hints as to the reason for his prejudice against Alice's profession. I'd love to hear your thoughts.**

 **xx Elise**


	3. Circumstance

**My apologies for the late posting. I've been at the theatre watching the funniest Jane Austen improvisation show imaginable with the ladies from Sense and Spontaneity. If you want to watch something both very funny and Regency/Austen inspired, google Dear Mr Darcy Wet White Shirt and watch the YouTube video. It's not had that many views on YouTube, but last I looked it's had over 600 000 views on Facebook and is soooo worth the watch.**

 **Less than a quarter of the readers for Passion and Propriety have made the leap to join me here for Duty and Desire (about 800 readers compared to 3400), which brings home to me how loyal everyone is to Edward and Bella stories! I am so glad you're taking the risk, as I have a real soft spot for this story.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Circumstance**

Miss Brandon's words hung in the air. From their slack-jawed expressions, Jasper presumed their hosts were as shocked by them as he was.

"I don't know if I would go _quite_ that far," he murmured.

" _I_ would." Miss Brandon gave him a look that starched his spine. "I appreciate the offer Isabella, you too, Edward, but you can't be serious. Putting my blatant unsuitability aside, Mr Whitlock and I can barely agree on the time of day. I don't see how we could work together in such an important role, as he has no respect for me _or_ my profession."

"I think you are taking my preference for following a more conventional medical path a little too personally, Miss Brandon." Jasper shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Oh really?" She raised one of her smoothly arched brows then began listing off on her fingers. "Witchy concoctions, old wives' tales, superstitious codswallop, illogical, outmoded, and unscientific methods. Have I left anything out? If I were being burned at the stake, I do believe you would be the first to throw a torch at my feet."

Leaving Jasper to splutter at her outrageous accusation, she turned back to their hosts.

"Which brings me to the matter of spiritual guidance. I am not sure how much I could offer, as while I still attend church when I am not busy practising my _unholy profession_ "—she threw Jasper a dark look—"I must own to an ongoing crisis of faith."

"I know." Lady Masen reached across the table to cover her friend's hand with her own. "And I don't blame you for a moment. You have had your life tipped on its head more than once, including abandonment by society members who have the gall to call themselves Christians."

"You have more faith in your little finger than they have in their entire bodies," Masen added. "You wouldn't give up on me despite all hope being lost, and I _know_ you prayed for a miracle for Isabella and the babes, one you cannot deny we received."

"Well, I suppose—"

"I don't think you're a witch, and I would _never_ wish you any harm," Jasper interjected.

Miss Brandon turned to face him.

"You could have fooled me."

"Maybe if Mr Whitlock were to offer an apology for his perceived insult?" Lady Masen gave Jasper an entreating look.

"Perceived?" Miss Brandon crossed her arms. "He thinks the use of herbal remedies is akin to practising sorcery. Do you know _why_ herbalists and the like were accused of witchcraft in the past, Mr Whitlock? Because they were predominantly women, women who were healthier and lived longer than those who put their trust in the methods employed by the _male-_ dominated medical fraternity. Methods, I might add, that I consider barbarous."

"You won't hear any argument from me," Masen muttered. "I suppose it was understandable the army surgeons wanted to cut off my arm. But the local doctor wanted to bleed and purge me when I had only just managed to fight my way back from death's door."

Jasper winced. He had never denied his friend's life, and his arm, had been saved by Miss Brandon' efforts, but it had been difficult to acknowledge a truth that directly challenged his prejudice. His old nursemaid would have been appalled to learn he had been rude to a lady. Despite Miss Brandon's less-than-respectable heritage and unconventional conduct, she could never be considered common.

Jasper set his jaw. "I do owe you an apology, Miss Brandon. I am sorry for any distress my remarks may have caused you."

"You're sorry for _my_ distress?" Miss Brandon gave him a withering look. "You are not responsible for my feelings, Mr Whitlock, but for your actions. If you can't acknowledge the fault, then there is not much point apologising."

Jasper's mouth dropped open even as he scrambled to make sense of her rebuttal.

"Are you saying my apology wasn't good enough?"

"Not even remotely, but I wouldn't lose sleep over it, as I have no expectation of hearing a better one. It does prove my point, however." She turned to address their hosts. "Mr Whitlock and I are unlikely ever to be of one accord, about _anything._ I don't imagine such disunity would set a very good example for David and Elizabeth."

"We are not asking you to cohabit," Lady Masen said with obvious exasperation. "If something were to happen to both Edward and myself, God forbid, I am sure my family would take on the day-to-day care of the children. I wouldn't expect you to give up your work, Alice. It is too important. And Mr Whitlock would need to continue taking care of the estate, lest we risk a repeat of what happened under Mr Crowley's reign."

"What we would like is for the two of you to have a say in David's and Elizabeth's upbringing," Masen added. "We want you to be part of their _family,_ to impart wisdom and give them guidance whether we are dead or alive. Although, I can't say I expected this conversation to take such a morbid turn."

"With that in mind, the family part, not the talk of our _deaths,"_ his wife said with a shudder, "we were wondering if our children might call you Uncle and Aunt when they are older. You are like a sister to me, Alice."

"And you are the closest thing I have to a brother," Masen told Jasper. "Which brings us to our second request. Whitlock, Isabella and I would like you to call us by our Christian names and, if you agree, I thought we might call you Jasper. I know you don't see your family very often, and if you are anything like I was before Isabella came into my life, you never get to hear your own name. I thought you might appreciate it."

Still reeling from Miss Brandon's denouncement, and more than a little stunned by the Masens' offer, Jasper took a moment to respond.

Lady Masen caught her lower lip between her teeth and looked to her husband. "If you would rather not, we understand."

"No, I would be honoured for you to call me by my Christian name." Jasper composed his features into a smile, not wanting to appear churlish or admit to his distraction. The Masens' request revealed a remarkable depth of respect and affection, but all he could feel was the sting of Miss Brandon's rebuke. According to the impossible woman, he couldn't even apologise correctly. But she was right about one thing. The chances of their being able to work together in any reasonable capacity were negligible.

"That is wonderful, Jasper." Lady Masen beamed.

"And you'll agree to being David and Elizabeth's godfather?" Masen asked.

"I would be honoured, but only if you are certain. I'm no longer highly placed, not even technically gentry if one were to press the point."

Miss Brandon huffed. "You are more highly placed than I am."

"That doesn't matter to Isabella or me," Masen said.

"Then you are both fools." The laughter in Miss Brandon' voice belied the harshness of her words.

"So, you will agree to be the children's godmother?" Lady Masen leaned forward, her eagerness palpable.

Miss Brandon threw her hands in the air. "If you insist, but don't blame me if they grow up thoroughly confused. I suppose there is one good thing that will come out of having such mismatched godparents. I can guarantee they will get to hear _both_ sides to every argument."

She had a point, but Jasper hid his amusement behind a cough.

His smile faded when he considered the task he had set himself. That's if he could bring himself to go through with it.

A pain in his chest had Jasper rubbing at the area over his heart.

 _What if she could help Peter?_

It was testament to his desperation that he was even considering the possibility. But the doctors had given up, and he had nowhere else to turn. If he held onto his pride, he would lose his son. He would do anything for the boy—crawl over hot coals, face a man-eating lion, give his own life. All were preferable to requesting the prickly young herbalist's assistance.

 _Why did the bloody woman have to be so difficult?_

He didn't _think_ she would deny him. The compassion hidden beneath her testy exterior was sure to be provoked on Peter's behalf. More significantly, he couldn't imagine her passing up the opportunity to say, "I told you so."

~D&D~

"There's no need," Mr Whitlock said when Edward called for a carriage at the end of the evening. "I can give Miss Brandon a lift home, as I brought my chaise. I, er, thought it might rain."

"Rain?" Edward looked out into the clear but cold night. "If you're sure."

"And _if_ Alice doesn't mind," Isabella added, looking worried.

"Why should I mind?" Alice asked while donning her coat. She had nothing to fear from Mr Whitlock, other than his bringing out the worst in her. Dismissing the man's pathetic apology hadn't been her finest moment. At least he had tried.

"Well, of course you wouldn't _mind_ ," Isabella said with an added harrumph. "But I don't want you to think we're pushing the two of you together now that you've agreed to our request, and because, well, you _are_ unwed—"

"Oh, piffle." Alice headed towards the door. "I spend my days and nights traipsing all over the district without an escort. It's a little late to go worrying about my reputation. Or is it Mr Whitlock's reputation you're concerned about?"

"I'm more worried the two of you will come to blows before you're halfway down the hill," Edward muttered.

"I have already said I wish Miss Brandon no harm. I can assure you I would never strike a lady."

Mr Whitlock took his friend's words literally when they were surely meant in jest.

"Ah, but I'm not technically a lady, remember?" she said, paraphrasing the estate manager's earlier description of himself. "In fact, Edward and Isabella, if you should find the chaise tipped on its side come morning and the two of us bludgeoned to death, you can safely assume bandits were not to blame. I would put my money on Mr Whitlock and I having done one another in."

While she would have liked to continue watching the ex-officer's mouth open and close like a fish out of water, Alice allowed Isabella to pull her aside.

"Stop goading the poor man," her friend whispered while they waited for the chaise to be brought around to the front of the manor.

Alice shrugged. "It's just a bit of harmless fun."

"For you, maybe. I don't think Jasper feels the same way."

"Then he should develop a sense of humour."

Isabella sighed.

"I don't think he's got a lot to laugh about. Another physician from London came to see his son today, and I received the impression it did not go well."

Alice didn't need the gift of clairvoyance to predict as much, but she kept the thought to herself. Her conscience stirred again, going so far as to needle at her heart. "Very well. I'll try to go easy on him."

"You'll let bygones be bygones?"

That was pushing it, but Isabella seemed quite determined and refused to let her pass.

"Oh, very well," Alice conceded with a huff. "For the boy's sake."

"And David's and Elizabeth's? You and Mr Whitlock will need to spend some time together as their godparents, and it would be easier if you weren't at odds."

"I'll do my best, but I can't guarantee the results. The man would try the patience of a saint."

Alice was glad to make her escape, fearing her friend would start matchmaking the unlikely couple if they remained any longer. The thought brought her up short, but then she shook her head. Not even Isabella's newly awakened romantic sensibilities could conceive of such a ridiculous notion.

After saying farewell to her friends, Alice went to climb into the chaise, but Mr Whitlock blocked her path.

"Allow me." He held out a hand to assist her.

She stared at it for a long moment. After their last encounter, she had to give him points for courage in the face of almost inevitable rejection. Glancing up, she saw a pleading look in Isabella's eyes, one she returned with a pointed stare. Looking back to Mr Whitlock, she said in the sweetest voice she could muster, "Why thank you, Mr Whitlock. That is very gentlemanly of you."

He harrumphed, and she narrowed her eyes. If he made a fuss, all bets were off.

"Would you like a blanket?" he asked once he had taken his seat beside her. The chaise's roof and side flaps offered a satisfactory protection against rain, not that there was much likelihood, but didn't insulate against the cold.

"Thank you. That would be appreciated."

Alice attempted a smile, not in the least surprised when Mr Whitlock's lips remained firmly pressed together. It didn't say much for the measure of the man if he had already exhausted his reserves of chivalry.

Silence reigned for the first part of the journey, and Alice found herself regretting her earlier haranguing. She had only spoken the truth, as she saw it, but it appeared her timing had been off.

"I am sorry about before," she said in what she hoped he would interpret as a conciliatory tone. "I shouldn't have rejected your apology."

Mr Whitlock didn't respond, but his knuckles gleamed white in the moonlight where they gripped the reins.

"I know you don't really wish me any harm. We just don't see eye to eye," she added, relieved when some of the tension left his stiffly held frame.

"You were right, and I was wrong," he said with a decisive nod.

Her mouth nearly fell open, but she held her peace, eager to hear more of his unexpected disclosure.

"I should have apologised for my words and not your response to them. It was inappropriate of me to say the things I did when we first met." He glanced her way before looking back to the road ahead, dark and barely lit by the carriage lanterns. "My father was a staunch believer in the scientific method and drummed into me the folly of putting my trust in anything that relies on blind faith."

"But herbalism doesn't rely on faith. It is a form of science," Alice said, struggling to maintain a civil tone.

"Herbalism? A science?" He eyed her incredulously. "With hypotheses raised and experiments designed to prove or disprove their validity?"

"Maybe not in such lofty terms, but what else would you call a process of trial and error involving countless test subjects? Herbal tinctures are not concocted in some willy-nilly fashion, Mr Whitlock, but following precise methods and recipes handed down for generations."

"No 'eye of newt' or incantations spoken over boiling cauldrons at midnight?"

"Certainly not." Alice's spine stiffened until she caught sight of Mr Whitlock's moustache twitching. So, the man _did_ have a sense of humour. Not wanting to give him opportunity to accuse her of lacking one, she managed a small smile and waited to see his in return—he was a handsome man, and there was no point denying herself the sight—but it was not to be. The twitch turned into a grimace, and his brows furrowed into a definite frown. Sighing, she wondered what had displeased him this time.

"My son isn't doing well."

Alice nodded slowly, unsure how to respond to his terse comment.

"I am sorry to hear that," she ventured after a moment.

He shot her a wary glance. "You're not going to lambaste me for putting my trust in barbarians who practise torture?"

The temptation to climb aboard that very soapbox was almost overwhelming, but Alice resisted, pressing her lips firmly together.

"I'm not sure I would blame you if you did . . . or necessarily disagree," Mr Whitlock continued.

Alice questioned whether she had heard him correctly. "How bad is he?"

"Very," he said shortly.

The silence stretched to a breaking point, hers at any rate, but she hesitated to fill it. What could she say? He obviously cared a great deal for his son, which wasn't always the case for those of his class. But no matter how much one cared, some outcomes could not be controlled. She _could_ offer her services, but considering his opinion of her profession, her help wasn't likely to be welcomed. There was a good chance she would get her head bitten off for her trouble. Still, at least she would have tried.

Alice opened her mouth then closed it on another sigh. In the year since they had arrived in the village, Mr Whitlock's son had been seen by a cavalcade of visiting physicians. Considering their methods, it was a wonder he had survived this long.

As they continued to wind their way down the hill from the manor, Alice's instinct for self-preservation warned her to remain silent. It wouldn't be the first time she had been called in after the damage had been done and then was blamed for the inevitable outcome. But if she did nothing, she would always wonder if the boy could have been saved.

"I realise I am probably the last person you would ever trust with your son's care," she said, steeling herself for his rebuttal, "but if there's anything I can do to help . . ."

A moment passed, and she wondered if he was going to ignore her offer.

"You beat me to it," he said.

Alice's eyes widened. "You _want_ my help?"

"I have been sitting here working up the courage to ask for it. To beg if necessary."

"There's no need for that." She placed her hand on his forearm, withdrawing it quickly when he flinched.

"Thank you." He nodded once, facing the road.

Alice waited for him to say more, for him to ask questions or offer further explanations. When none were forthcoming she felt compelled to add, "You do realise I'm not a miracle worker?"

"The Masens might beg to differ." He glanced her way, his expression lightening a fraction.

"That's kind of them, but I don't even know what I am dealing with."

His faint smile faded. "A top London physician says nothing more can be done for Peter. He's not the first. They say I need to accept he is not long for this earth."

"But you are not ready to give up?"

"I will _never_ give up on my son."

"Then we shall do our best to prove them wrong." Alice just hoped it wasn't beyond her capabilities. "You have ceased the treatments? The blood-letting and purges?"

"His blood was drained today, but it shan't happen again."

"Did you . . ." She blew out a breath. "Did you allow them to dose him with mercury or one of the other metallics? I know they are highly lauded, but I have serious doubts about their efficacy."

"I had heard rumours of miners being poisoned by the vapours, so I refused."

At Mr Whitlock's admission, she breathed a heartfelt sigh.

"Then there may be hope." She offered him a tentative smile. "When would you like me to see your son?"

His voice, when he spoke, was gruff with emotion. "The sooner the better. Tomorrow morning?"

"Very well. I shall just need to set my trainees their tasks for the day then see to a couple of patients. Say around ten of the morning?"

"Excellent." Jasper's heavy sigh ruffled his moustache. She could have sworn he had allowed it to grow longer since their previous discussion of its grooming. But in the light of the seriousness of their conversation, she refrained from comment.

They reached the outskirts of the village, and he slowed his horse to a walk. After making their way along the dimly lit cobblestone streets, he pulled the chaise to a stop in front of Alice's tiny cottage. Situated on the edge of the village, the garden where Alice grew her herbs backed up to the forest. She had lived there with her great aunt Edith since the day her father, Lord Brandon, died when she was barely eighteen.

Lord Brandon had come to collect her after her mother passed away when Alice was not yet five years old. For thirteen years, she had been raised as a lady in Lord Brandon's house. The transition from illegitimate daughter of a naïve maid seduced by a local lord, to living in said lord's manor with his _legitimate_ wife and children, had been the stuff of nightmares. Being thrown from her father's home mere hours after his funeral had been even worse.

Returning to live in the village as a young woman, polished but penniless, Alice might have given way to despair if it hadn't been for her great aunt Edith, the district's aged but still sprightly healer. She had taken Alice under wing, given her a home, and trained her in the profession that would eventually lend purpose to her life. Almost eight years later, with her great aunt now too frail to work, Alice took care of the district in her stead. It hadn't been easy, especially obtaining certification as a midwife from the local bishop. But she had prevailed and, in the process, carved a place for herself in the world, one she had no intention of surrendering.

"Wait there, and I shall assist you," Mr Whitlock said as Alice removed the blanket covering her knees.

She clambered down from the chaise before he had the chance to disembark. "We've been over this before, Mr Whitlock. I'm quite able to manage unaided."

"I wasn't questioning your capabilities, Miss Brandon, I was merely attempting to, oh, never mind."

While she couldn't see him clearly, there was no missing the sound of his sigh. He was awfully quick to take offence.

"Thank you for the ride, Mr Whitlock. I'll see you tomorrow, mid-morning. Unless I'm delayed by an emergency, in which case I shall try to send word."

"You are welcome, Miss Brandon, and thank you for agreeing to see my son on such short notice."

With a wave of her hand, Alice turned and made her way up the path to the cottage, intent on checking on her ailing aunt. She wasn't surprised when Mr Whitlock didn't depart until she was safely inside, his actions those of a gentleman regardless of his circumstances.

~D&D~

 **They're making progress, but they've certainly got a checkered past. Anyone else dislike apologies that start (and often end) with 'I'm sorry you feel that way?' or 'I'm sorry you were upset by...?' Was Alice right in calling him out, or should she have accepted Jasper's first apology?** **As always, I love hearing your thoughts.**

 **I'm working on an epic outtake of Edward and Bella's first night of intimacy after the babies were born which is turning into a surprisingly plot heavy, both angsty and hysterical novella of sorts. I'm not sure how I'm going to share it, but I'll let you know.**

 **Thank you for reading and reccing this story, and thank you to the 5% who leave a review. Your words and smiley faces make my day...or night. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	4. Outtake - Isabella and Angela

**Hello dear Passion and Propriety readers,**

 **As promised, here is the first outtake from the next story in this series, Duty and Desire. This scene occurs eight weeks after the twins are born, and fits in after Chapter Two. It was supposed to be a short, sweet (well, smutty if I'm honest) lemon, but it took an unexpected turn when another character's story demanded to be heard. Part 2 - the smutty half, will be up as soon as it's written.**

 **Thank you to the lovely NKubie for her last minute beta skills. Mwah!**

 **(I have already posted this out-take at the end of Passion and Propriety, but it seemed to make sense to include it here as well in case anyone missed it.)**

 **xx Elise**

 **Outtake – Part 1**

 **Isabella and Angela - Insecurities and Disclosures**

Isabella stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bathing room that adjoined her bedroom suite, wrapped in a large, linen towel. After taking a steadying breath, she squinted her eyes to obscure her vision and then let the towel drop. Her naked form was not something she had viewed in such a manner before becoming a viscountess, as the only looking glass she had owned was modest in size.

When she had first had opportunity to see herself thus, after her nuptials and before the conception of her twins, she had been pleasantly surprised by the shape her form had taken. Seeing so much pale, creamy skin at one time, had been somewhat alarming, but she'd been generally pleased by the view. Of course, she had previously been aware of the gentle slope of her shoulders, but she had been impressed by the perkiness of her full, round breasts with their pale pinkish tips.

The slender curve of her waist was testament to the far from sedentary life she had led prior to entering the state of matrimony. She had imagined scheduling time to perambulate the garden on a regular basis would be wise now that she had such wondrous cooks tempting her with their culinary delights on a thrice daily basis, five times a day if one included morning and afternoon teas. Cook's scones, that she insisted on serving with the sweetest of jams and richest of clotted creams, could add inches to one's waist per sitting!

The breadth of Isabella's hips had been reassuring, as a woman committed to the industry of child birthing did not need the disadvantage of boyishly slender proportions. As for her legs, they had been something of a marvel, being both long, for her height, and decidedly shapely. No wonder Edward was so taken with them!

Post-partum, the view was somewhat different, and she winced while observing the more obvious changes. Two months after the birth of her beloved twins, her belly was far from flat or even just mildly curved, and she seriously doubted it would ever be so again. Her navel no longer appeared quite as a navel should, while the lower half of her abdomen was crisscrossed with alarmingly coloured stripes. Alice assured her the marks created by the stretching of her muscles and skin, striations she named them, would fade eventually. In the meantime, Isabella was faithful in applying the ointment her friend had created for the purpose of speeding the recovery of sorely abused skin that had been stretched almost beyond its limits.

Her breasts were larger and the nipples quite a bit darker, but she couldn't see either of those things being a problem. That her breasts were also situated a little lower on her chest was not as welcome a change. Turning to the side, she acknowledged, with a dispirited sigh, that her bottom also appeared to have journeyed closer to the ground. Not a great deal, mind you, but enough that she suspected Edward would notice. Would he care was the pertinent question.

"My lady?" Angela queried her mistress's antics from the doorway into her dressing room, and Isabella scurried to cover herself with a robe. "Is anything amiss?"

"No, I'm just indulging in a bout of self-consciousness, that's all." Isabella smiled to cover her embarrassment over being caught, relieved that she did not feel a tell-tale flushing in her cheeks. The absence of her blush was not something she would mourn.

"There is no need to feel concerned, ma'am," Angela said as she came to assist Isabella with her hair and dressing. "You are a beautiful young woman who has only very recently given birth to not one, but two babies. I swear not a word of criticism for your appearance will be spoken or is warranted."

"Thank you, Angela," Isabella said, her smile feeling a little crooked. "There is only one person's opinion I am concerned about; my husband's. As long as he still finds me appealing, then the rest is of little relevance."

Rather than rush to assure her mistress that she had nothing to worry about in that regard, Angela ducked her head and busied herself with folding the towel she had collected off the floor. Her actions left Isabella feeling even more insecure than she already was.

"Angela?" she found herself prompting. "You think my husband might find me less appealing with all the changes that have been wrought in my body?"

The beautiful, red-haired French woman, spun to face her. "I don't understand why it matters, my lady. You have done your duty, twice over. Your husband seems to genuinely care for you so, surely, he can leave you be for a little longer. It's barely been eight weeks."

"Angela!" Isabella exclaimed, though not in rebuke. Added to her surprise at the vehemence of her lady's maid's tone was no little shock when she detected tears glistening in the younger woman's eyes.

"I'm so sorry, my lady," Angela responded, bowing in contrition. "I never should have spoken out of turn. Please don't be cross with me?"

Isabella was at a loss. She had never seen her typically unflappable maid in such a state of emotional distress. "Of course, I'm not cross with you," she said softly. "Come and sit with me and tell me what has you so perturbed."

Isabella wrapped her robe more tightly around her middle then departed the dressing room for her sitting area where she took a seat on her comfortable chaise lounge. She patted the space beside her and waited for Angela to join her. When the maid she counted as a friend, and whom she credited with helping to save little Elizabeth's life, remained silent, she reached for her hand.

"Please, my dear, tell me what is bothering you?"

Angela looked up, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "You are ready to resume relations with His Lordship?"

Isabella's eyes widened. "Well, yes," she murmured, perturbed by the intrusiveness of the query. "I was actually going to ask you to find the diaphanous nightgown I wore for my wedding night, as I've not worn it since, and I thought it might make tonight special."

Angela's shoulders began to quake, as her emotions, which were clearly running very high, appeared to get the better of her. Why it should bother the girl that Isabella was ready to be intimate again with her husband was beyond her reckoning. Unless . . .

"You're not still worried that the Masen Curse is in effect, are you? With everything that has happened, I feel confident it is well and truly behind us.

Angela shook her head. "It's not that, ma'am. I just don't understand why you must put yourself through such torment when it is no longer necessary. It made sense to me that you wanted to seem appealing to His Lordship _before_ you conceived, for you were doing your duty. Your husband hasn't been neglecting you or depriving you of his presence, just as he so kindly kept you company once it was known you were with child, and not for any salacious reasons, as he is a true gentleman in every regard. I understand that men have needs and urges that cannot be indefinitely denied, but he seems like such a decent man. Surely, he would grant you a longer reprieve if you requested it?"

An awful sense of foreboding trickled down Isabella's spine. She had assumed, from the time Angela had accidentally been privy to a rather joyful if highly intimate moment between her and Edward, that her maid understood how entirely willing Isabella was when it came to fulfilling her marital duties. Considering some of the antics that she and her still quite newlywedded husband had regularly engaged in prior to the twins' births, she could only assume Angela had not reached that conclusion because her perception of such matters was coloured by a previous, unpleasant, experience.

"Angela, I would like to speak freely with the understanding that the contents of our conversation are to remain solely between the two of us. Agreed?"

Angela nodded while wiping at her eyes with the corner of her full-length apron. "Agreed, ma'am. I know I wasn't always as discreet as I should have been in the beginning of my employment, but I hope you know that you can trust me entirely. I hold you very dear in my heart, my lady, and I would never speak a word to betray you."

"Thank you," Isabella said with a smile. "I hold you dear to me, also, and think of you more as a friend than an employee. What I am going to say will never leave this room, for _both_ our sakes."

Angela sniffed, then straightened her shoulders and faced her mistress head on.

"Angela, I don't just endure my husband's attentions, I enjoy them, thoroughly and without reservation. He makes me feel things I didn't know it was possible to feel. Wonderful things."

Angela's mouth fell open. "But . . ." she shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. "But only the man, or the gentleman, receives pleasure from . . . from . . ."

"Conjugal relations?" Isabella finished for her.

Angela nodded while twisting the corners of her apron into a knot with white knuckled fingers.

"That is often the case," Isabella said softly in agreement. "In part, I believe, because women are not educated as to the possibilities. They are discouraged from even considering the idea that their bodies can bring them pleasure or have any purpose other than being used by their husbands as a vessel for his satisfaction and the bearing of his children. But it's not true, Angela. I know this from personal experience. One only has to read certain passages of the Bible, the Song of Solomon in particular, to see that a travesty has been inflicted upon modern womanhood, in the name of Christianity, that is false, repressive, and cruel. Even the apostle Paul, who was no lover of women, said the marriage bed was undefiled and that husbands _and wives_ should not deny each other the pleasure of their bodies. If there was no pleasure to be had for the wife, there would be nothing her husband could have denied her."

While Angela was listening intently, her demeanour spoke of one at odds with the message. Her face had paled, her shoulders were tensed, and her hands shook in her lap. Isabella's heart sank, and she scolded herself for not detecting the truth of the matter far, far sooner.

"Angela, my dear girl, have you had experience with conjugal relations in the past. Have no fear of judgement, as none whatsoever shall pass my lips."

"I have, my lady," Angela whispered from between trembling lips.

"Were you a willing participant?"

Angela's head began to move from side to side before Isabella had finished asking. The tears she'd been trying to hold at bay spilled over her lower lids and coursed down her cheeks. When her shoulders began to shake with the sobs she could no longer repress, Isabella pulled the young woman into her embrace.

"There, there," she murmured as Angela wept on her shoulder. "You poor, dear, girl. It is all right. Nothing can harm you here. You are safe now."

Isabella had long suspected that Angela had an interesting story to tell. The Frenchwoman's elocution, demeanour, and occasional lapses when she revealed glimpses of a superior level of education, all spoke of an upbringing at odds with her supposed station. Isabella had surmised that there were quite probably unsettling events in her past, as she was, essentially, a refugee from a country with which they were at war. Angela never spoke of her home, and when Isabella had asked after her family, she had revealed, in a tight-lipped manner, that she had been orphaned at an older age. Isabella had received the distinct impression that her maid did not wish to speak of past events, so despite being highly curious, she had endeavoured not to pry. Now, she regretted not attempting at least a gentle probing. The poor woman had been holding onto a terrible trauma, one about which Isabella could barely bring herself to think.

Only when Angela had cried herself out and then straightened to wipe her face clean, did Isabella speak again. "Would you like to talk about it?" she asked.

Angela shook her head and sniffed back the last of her tears. "It was some time ago now, almost five years, and I'm doing my best to put it behind me. Most days I don't think of it, but sometimes a situation will bring it to mind, and it's as if I am back there, being treated abominably, all over again. I was only seven and ten," she added softly.

"Oh, my. That must have been truly dreadful for you," Isabella murmured, her heart breaking for her friend. "If you ever _do_ want to talk about it, please know that I am a good listener, and my shoulder is always available if you need to have another cry. I would imagine one does not get over such an event easily."

"Multiple events, I'm afraid, and no . . . one does not."

The sadness in Angela's eyes was wrenching, but Isabella also sensed a considerable degree of resolve.

"I'm not sure what is the right thing to say, if there is such a thing, but I can appreciate a little better your concerns for _my_ wellbeing," Isabella said with a gentle smile. "Is there anything I can say or do that might put your mind at rest?"

Angela sat still and silent for a long moment, staring at her hands. Then she drew in what appeared to be a fortifying breath and met Isabella's concerned gaze.

"Is it true, what you said? Can women experience the same _feelings_ from intimacy as a man?"

"Yes, but we are very different creatures from the male of our species, especially from the sort of heartless scoundrel that would take from a woman without asking. From my understanding, a woman needs to feel safe, cossetted even, for those feelings to arise. Her husband must be patient with her, considering more than his own needs."

"Oh." Angela's shoulders slumped. "Then it must only happen in the rarest of situations, and something someone such as I am unlikely to ever experience."

Isabella sighed, realising she could not refute Angela's assessment.

An idea formed in Isabella's mind. An idea so shocking, she wondered if she dared entertain it. Frowning with deep thought, she rapidly perused the vast stores of Scriptures she had dutifully memorised over the years, hoping to find any that might justify or merely allow for the course of action she was considering suggesting. When she was able to bring together several, seemingly disparate notions, her resolve was strengthened.

"Are you familiar with the commandment that we should love others as we love ourselves?" Isabella asked, prompting Angela's sweetly curved brows to rise.

"Of course," she answered with a one shouldered shrug.

Isabella grimaced. "I am sure it could be argued that I am taking this wildly out of context, possibly sacrilegiously so," she added in a muttered undertone, "But I believe I have had a revelation that may be of assistance."

Angela said nothing, but her expression betrayed curiosity along with an understandable degree of perplexity.

" _I_ think," Isabella said with a tad more conviction than she felt, "there are situations that justify a woman taking matters into her own hands. With such frightening experiences in your past, I believe there is justifiable cause for you to take control of your own needs in this area. In so doing, you may even find a measure of comfort, of healing, to know that your body is truly your own. I imagine it could be quite empowering to discover that your body can give you pleasure and confidence in an area where you have only experienced pain and degradation." Isabella's own confidence waned a little, and she asked with some temerity, "Have I shocked you too badly with my suggestion?"

"No . . ." Angela drawled the word, her brow furrowed in thought. "But what exactly would taking care of my _own_ needs entail?"

Isabella drew in a deep breath. "Have you ever touched your body? I mean, for reasons other than cleanliness?"

Angela's eyes widened. "But that is a sin, my lady. A grievous sin."

"Is it? Really? Says who? I've never read a Scripture that explicitly forbids such action. I suppose there are some that could be interpreted in such a way, but who were they written by? I'll tell you who . . . stuffy old patriarchs who didn't hesitate to take multiple wives, hand maidens, and even concubines to their beds for heaven's sake. They certainly made sure they got their needs met, well into their dotage, and they weren't overly fussy about who met them!"

"But the New Testament, ma'am—"

"Yes, yes . . ." Isabella waved a hand. "One husband, one wife, which I am in total agreement with. Then you have Paul saying it is better to marry than burn with passion, but our modern times have put such horrid constraints upon women that they are not even supposed to relieve the flames once wed! How is one supposed to give something freely of which they are not allowed to partake?" Realising she was crossing over into soapbox territory, Isabella curtailed her growing rant. Coming to a decision, she raised her pointer finger. "My advice to you, Angela, is that you give yourself permission to become acquainted with your own body. In so doing, you may discover those methods that would assist you to achieve the sort of pleasure and comfort that was brutally stolen from you and that most men take for granted. It will only ever be a private matter, so you have no need to fear censure. If you are concerned about judgment from the Almighty, I give you full rein to lay the blame solely at my feet. I am speaking in my role as both a vicar's daughter and viscountess, so I feel I have at least a modicum of authority."

Angela's eyes could not widen any further. "You really think that is allowable, ma'am?"

"Well, I've just granted you permission, so, er, yes," Isabella said with a decisive nod, though she did squirm in her seat a little. She didn't _think_ she was condemning either of them to an eternity of torture for daring to assume a woman was allowed a measure of control over her own body and emotions, but she was well aware the church's patriarchal leadership would have an alternative opinion.

A feeling of peace descended upon Isabella's shoulders, as another Scripture came to mind. Love did not judge or find fault. Love covered—or healed as she had heard it interpreted—a multitude of sins. And how badly had Angela been sinned against? How deeply must her wounds go? How deserved was she of love, and comfort, and the reassurance that her body was, indeed, her own?

Strengthened in her resolve, Isabella set about educating the bemused young woman as to exactly how she might go about achieving the desired result. The hours she had spent snooping in her husband's collection of erotic literature, quite unbeknownst to him, of course, put her in good stead. She even offered up her own bathing suite, as the door was lockable from the inside and privacy could be assured.

"Now, I'm not saying that any of this, in any way, mitigates the trauma you have experienced," Isabella said while Angela sat contemplating her mistress's shocking but tantalising disclosures. "Nor will it magically dissolve any residual fears you may have towards the opposite sex or matters of intimacy—"

"No, ma'am, it's all right," Angela interjected, her expression thoughtful but also calm. "Those fears are slowly fading, especially now that I am a part of a household where every individual is treated with respect and none would take advantage of another for fear of our benevolent master's predictable response."

The two women shared a smile in acknowledgment of Edward's fierce and protective manner.

"But you think following my advice may help?" Isabella prompted, secretly worried she had over-stepped any number of boundaries.

"I do," Angela said with a nod, her expression surprisingly optimistic before it turned a tad mischievous. "And I look forward to apprising you of the results."

"Very good," Isabella said, raising her nose and affecting the loftiest of tones. Then both young women dissolved into a fit of delighted, if admittedly saucy, giggles.

 **~D &D~**

 **That was heartbreaking and not a tale I had expected to tell for some time, but it seemed the _right_ time to disclose some of Angela's past. As for my liturgical gymnastics, fingers crossed I don't get struck by lightning! Keeping these characters beliefs and behaviours fitting for the times can be a challenge. All I can say is thank God for progress and women's suffrage, although I did spend many years in a church that taught much the same rubbish as they were spouting two hundred years ago. Thankfully, my darling husband didn't take a blind bit of notice, as he is a firm believer in the adage 'Happy Wife, Happy Life'!**

 **xx Elise**


	5. Method

**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing Duty and Desire. Your kind words and encouragement are a huge inspiration for me to keep writing and sharing my stories. Passion and Propriety is now available on Amazon in both ebook and print versions. I have priced both as low as possible without actually giving them away . . . which is what I'm already doing here. The ebook is priced at $2.99 USD and the print version is $12.99 USD. I had hoped to make the print version cheaper, but the printing costs and commission that Amazon takes were a lot higher than I expected. To those of you who have already (or are intending) to purchase either version of Passion and Propriety, thank you so much! If it's not too much to ask, would you consider leaving a review on Amazon dot com? (It has to be that particular branch of Amazon for them to show up on a general search). Amazon reviews are _very_ hard to come by, but they are vital if a story is to be noticed and not disappear into the ether. As with fan fiction stories, the more reviews a story has, the more likely readers are to give it a go.**

 **Thank you again for all your kindness and support. You guys are wonderful!**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 4**

 **Method**

Jasper paced. Miss Brandon was only fifteen minutes late, but she had promised to send word if she was going to be delayed. When he spied her on the path to his front door, he rushed to open it before she had a chance to knock.

"Sorry I'm late." She bustled through the door, and he quickly stepped aside. "The Masen District baby boom is continuing, I'm afraid. I suppose that's a good thing considering how many souls we have lost to the war and in the mines. The Bakers over in Fulbright added a little boy to their brood in the early hours, and Mrs Hansen is set to increase the population of Forkton sometime today. With four boys already, I suspect the Hansens are hoping for a girl."

"Should you have left her alone?" Jasper asked, foregoing a formal greeting in exchange for helping the busy midwife take off her coat.

"Mrs Hansen's not lacking experience, but I have left her in good hands." Miss Brandon passed him her bonnet. "Madge Albert, the oldest of my trainees, is assisting her. She's already quite competent at midwifery, and I doubt she will have much to do in this case unless there's a last-minute complication."

"Oh, well, that's good." Bemused by the conversation, Jasper gave his head a shake. He wondered how Miss Brandon could appear so fresh, as she must have been up half the night. His curiosity would go unsatisfied, as it wasn't a topic one raised with a lady.

"How did you get over to Fulbright?" he asked as he escorted her to the stairs that led to the second storey of the estate manager's residence. The home was modest in size, although it dwarfed the tiny cottage Miss Brandon called home.

"Mr Baker sent a neighbour to collect me in his cart. Not _quite_ as comfortable as riding in your chaise, I'm afraid."

She smiled, but Jasper didn't return it. Miss Brandon had mentioned the night before that she travelled on foot when getting around the district. He had found himself both pondering how she managed and worrying about the risks involved. When the time was right, he intended raising the issue of her personal safety, hoping it wouldn't also raise her ire. It was none of his business, but focusing on someone else's problems gave him a reprieve from his own.

Miss Brandon wasn't the only one to have lost sleep, as Jasper had been up half the night trying to comfort his son. They reached the door to his room, and Jasper hesitated.

"I'll go in first and let him know you're here," he said before reluctantly admitting, "Peter is afraid of doctors and the like."

"That's hardly surprising."

Miss Brandon' tone was wry, but when Jasper met her gaze he saw only compassion. Leaving her in the narrow hallway, he entered the room and crouched down beside the bed.

"Peter?" He patted his son's bony shoulder. "You need to wake up. There's a lady here to see you."

"Lady Masen?" The boy perked up a little and looked towards the door.

"No. It's her friend, Miss Brandon. She's going to see if she can make you feel better."

Peter whimpered and cowered away, not that Jasper blamed him. He had lost count of how many times he had told the boy the same thing when introducing him to yet another physician.

"She is not a doctor," he added. "She is not going to do anything to hurt you."

"Promise?"

The boy's blue eyes were wide in his pale face, and Jasper hoped he wasn't about to let him down. Again.

"I promise."

After crossing to the door, he let Miss Brandon in and then introduced her.

"Hello, Peter." She smiled warmly, and Jasper was taken by how young, and lovely, she looked when she wasn't acting serious, superior, or just plain annoyed. His son was of a like mind, apparently.

"You look like a princess, or a fairy. Do you have wings?"

"I don't think so." Miss Brandon shot Jasper a bemused look before crossing to Peter's side. "None that I'm aware of. Can you see any?"

Turning, she showed Peter her back while glancing over her shoulder, eliciting a giggle from the boy. It was a sound Jasper hadn't heard in some time.

"No. No wings." She gave an exaggerated sigh then took a seat on the edge of the bed. "What about you, Peter? Do you have any wings?"

"Boys can't have wings." He looked to his father. "Can they?"

"Ahh . . ." Jasper furrowed his brow. "I suppose if they are boy fairies, they can. Or would they be called pixies?"

"I don't know," Miss Brandon replied when he turned to her for help. "I'll have to ask Tanya. That's Lady Masen's sister, Miss Swan."

"The one who looks like an angel?" Peter asked.

Jasper snorted. Isabella's youngest sister was a pretty young lady with pale blond hair and bright blue eyes, but he didn't realise his son had taken notice.

"I suppose Miss Swan could be mistaken for an angel, in appearance at any rate." Miss Brandon' wry expression was understandable, considering the vicar's youngest daughter's penchant for misadventure. "She loves to read and is sure to know the answer. Maybe I can ask her to drop by and tell you herself when you are feeling a little better."

"I'd like that," Peter said, the tension leaving his small frame as he relaxed against the pillow. "She brings me lollies. Do you have any lollies?"

"I do, indeed." Miss Brandon smiled again, and Jasper concluded he would take green eyes and dark hair over a fair, ethereal beauty any day. Unsettled by the thought, he almost missed her transition from convivial visitor to medical professional.

He had seen it done a dozen times before, but Jasper hadn't expected Miss Brandon' actions to mimic those of the London doctors so closely. After asking Jasper to hold up the lantern that had been situated on a sideboard, she used a tongue depressor to see down his son's throat. Next, she gently pulled down Peter's lower eyelids before feeling the glands under the boy's chin and at his armpits. She looked closely at Peter's fingernails, then she sighed when her hands brushed over the bandages that covered the many cuts on his sticklike arms.

"Can I have a look at your stomach?" she asked.

Both father and son flinched.

"You're not going to make me be sick, are you?"

Tears filled Peter's eyes, and Jasper felt a burning sensation behind his own lids.

"Definitely not," Miss Brandon said with a shake of her head.

A moment passed while his son eyed her warily, then to Jasper's relief, Peter released his grip on the blanket he had pulled up to his chin. After raising his nightgown to reveal his swollen belly, Miss Brandon carefully prodded his stomach. Jasper felt every wince.

"All done," she said after lowering Peter's gown and tucking the blanket around his waist. "Let's help you sit up, so you can enjoy your lolly. We don't want you choking trying to eat lying down."

Once Peter was happily sucking on the boiled sweet she gave him, Miss Brandon turned to Jasper. "I would like to speak with his nursemaid and with your cook."

"They are one and the same, I'm afraid. Mrs Carter is my housekeeper, laundry woman, cook, and Peter's nursemaid. I'm not sure what I would do without her."

"Indeed."

Jasper was annoyed to feel heat rising to his cheeks. In his previous life, he had employed multiple staff members, but he'd had to economise to afford Peter's treatments.

Leaving Peter with a picture book, his eyelids already beginning to droop, Jasper escorted Miss Brandon down the stairs and went to show her through to the parlour.

"The kitchen would be better."

Taking a left turn when he would have directed her to turn right, she showed herself into the small but cosy room where Mrs Carter was busy peeling vegetables.

"Miss Brandon, 'ow lovely to see ye," the housekeeper said, wiping her hands on her apron. "I'm not sure if ye remember me, as I 'ail from Thornlie, but ye treated my niece when she was suffering from milk fever."

"Yes, I remember."

The two women exchanged smiles, and then Jasper stepped in to explain the reason for his unlikely visitor's presence.

"I've asked for Miss Brandon's advice with Peter, since the doctors don't seem to have anything more to offer."

"Oh, thank 'eavens." Mrs Carter turned aside to fetch the kettle off the stove then set about filling a teapot and arranging cups and saucers on a tray. "I've been wanting to say something for the longest time, but it wasn't me place. Does this mean the poor lad won't be bled again or 'ave to endure any more of those terrible purges? It breaks me 'eart to watch."

"Mine, too," Jasper murmured.

"No. No more bleeding or purging," Miss Brandon said, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"Don't ye want me to bring the tray through to the parlour?" the housekeeper asked.

"Here is fine, as I need to speak with you. Take a seat, Mr Whitlock. You, too, Mrs Carter."

"If ye say so."

The housekeeper looked as bemused as Jasper felt, but they both did as they were told.

"I need to ask you about Peter's bodily functions," Miss Brandon said.

Jasper's brows rose in bemusement. He didn't know what to make of her inquiries regarding the boy's bowel movements, although she seemed unsurprised to hear he vacillated between constipation and bouts of diarrhoea.

"Does he ever complain of a sore stomach after eating?"

"All the time, poor lad." Mrs Carter shook her head. " 'e gets the most awful cramps, and sometimes 'is stomach blows up like a balloon. About the only thing that doesn't bother 'im is my vegetable broth. Even soup is a problem—"

"When you add barley?" Miss Brandon asked, and the housekeeper nodded.

Jasper frowned. "How could you know that?"

"Just a hunch." Miss Brandon shrugged, an odd habit for a lady but one she indulged in quite frequently. "Did any of the physicians make a diagnosis?"

"Many." Jasper sat back. As an officer, he had conducted his fair share of interrogations, but he was unused to being on the receiving end. He couldn't help admiring her forthright manner and answered promptly. "I've been told Peter is suffering from colic, gastritis, chlorosis, and every conceivable form of marasmus. Consumption has been discounted, as his lungs don't seem too badly affected."

"Is he prone to congestion? Painful ears, sore throat?"

"Oh, aye," Mrs Carter answered. "The poor lad 'as a terrible time of it."

"Have you noticed if his symptoms are worse after he eats certain foods?"

"Now that you mention it . . ." Mrs Carter looked between Miss Brandon and Jasper. "If I give him clotted cream, 'is ears are sure to pain him that night. And ye'd think a nice glass of milk would soothe 'is poor stomach, but 'e ends up with the most dreadful cramps. I wondered about taking 'im off milk altogether, but it didn't seem right to deprive the poor lad when 'e's little more than skin and bones as it is."

"I see," Miss Brandon murmured and made some notes with a pencil in a small journal she withdrew from her reticule.

"You think there is a problem with Peter's _diet_?" Jasper felt foolish even suggesting such a thing, although he did recall a classmate of his becoming ill after eating peanuts—so ill he almost died. "I have heard of extreme reactions to foods—"

"Whereas Peter's case, if I'm right, is chronic," Miss Brandon said before adding in response to his dubious expression, "It is just one of several possibilities."

"None of his doctors have said anything about his diet, other than suggesting we keep it bland."

"Bread pudding, custards, that sort of thing," Mrs Carter supplied when Jasper motioned for her to elaborate.

"I don't see how eating such plain fare could bring a child to death's door," Jasper said, struggling not to sound belligerent.

"It shouldn't, but it seems obvious that Peter's digestion is delicate. Combined with the purgings and letting of his blood—"

"But he was sickly _before_ the treatments began. They can't have caused his illness."

"No, but they won't have helped. If, as I suspect, he is not obtaining the goodness from his food, the last thing he needs is to be further weakened."

Despite the heat emanating from the kitchen stove, Jasper felt the warmth leech from his body. Miss Brandon's words made a dreadful sort of sense.

"What have I done?" he whispered.

"Only what you thought was best." Miss Brandon reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. He wasn't expecting the gesture, and certainly not the jolt that ran up his arm at the feel of her ungloved fingers on his bare skin.

"What do we do now?" he asked, forcibly regathering his thoughts. "Are there any foods that won't irritate his stomach? I assume you shall want us to remove milk from his diet, but what can we use to replace it?"

"Mrs Burredge keeps goats," Mrs Carter said. "She's a strange old biddy, but she swears the milk doesn't make 'er wheeze like that from a cow. Should I ask 'er for some?"

Miss Brandon nodded. "Yes, I think you should. I'll need to do some research _,_ but replacing cow's milk with goat's is an obvious starting point."

"Could it really be that simple?" Mrs Carter asked. "The boy's so very ill."

"I know." Miss Brandon's sober expression dampened the hopes Jasper was tempted to allow rise. "The change might help, but I would be surprised if it's enough to fix the problem."

"What else can be done?" he asked.

"I'll make up a tonic, a _mild_ one, to help ease his stomach cramps and build up his blood." Miss Brandon added more notes to her journal. "I shall need to send to London for some slippery elm powder. It's from the bark of a tree found in the Americas, and it has a wonderful soothing effect on the gut."

"That's all good and well, but what do we give him to eat in the meantime?" Jasper tried not to let his exasperation show, but he was not unaware that Peter was close to starvation.

Miss Brandon smiled, an unexpected response, though it was the hint of smugness that gave him pause.

"To determine which foods your son can safely tolerate, Mr Whitlock, we must employ the _scientific_ method. It will require much trial and error and considerable patience, I'm afraid."

 **~D &D~**

 **Not the longest chapter, but it's nice to meet Peter (poor little fellow) and receive a smidgen of hope. I imagine I'll be back with another chapter tomorrow...because you are all so appreciative and I can't resist. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	6. Sympathy

**Hi Again!**

 **When I was researching this story, I was astonished by how little the medical profession understood about what caused disease and illness at this time in history (early 1800s). Doctors honestly believed most illnesses were caused by bad 'humours' or 'miasmas' that were unhealthy smells or vapours. The standard protocol after a woman gave birth was to keep her lying in bed for at least two weeks with all the windows closed and drapes drawn to try and keep the 'bad air' out. M** **any of the treatments they believed in were ultimately deadly, such as heavy metal tonics (mercury, alluminium, arsenic).** **As for children like Peter, most wasted away as babies or during childhood, with fully one third of babies dying at or soon after birth and a similar number not making it to adulthood. It wasn't uncommon for families to call their first two or three boys (and girls) the same family name, in hopes one of them would survive to carry it on!**

 **Conversely, herbalists were renowned for being much healthier and living longer than the general population, which is why so many of them were accused of witchcraft and had to practise in secret. I couldn't find a lot of information about how they functioned, but they _must_ have been clever, insightful women (and some men) to correctly identify which herbs helped which condition, often with surprising accuracy. The remedies and tinctures etc that herbalists created hundreds of years ago, eventually became the basis for many of our more effective modern medicines when the patriarchal medical fraternity got their heads out of their collective asses and started looking at what actually worked! ****My great-grandmother had an ancient book of herbal medicinal recipes which she left to me. I showed it to a naturopath friend of mine, and she said most of it was the same or similar to what would be prescribed now, and that is after all the herbs have been scientifically tested.**

 **This chapter is speculative, but I can imagine some of these clever ladies working this stuff out.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

Chapter 5

Sympathy

There was a spring in Alice's step as she walked down the lane from Mr Whitlock's home to her cottage. The challenge of dealing with a complicated case inspired her, although one-upping her old adversary in a verbal stoush might have played a part. If she was honest, she had derived no little satisfaction from seeing him swallow his pride and admit he needed her help. That had been tempered when she observed his gentle way with the boy, his caring manner showing Mr Whitlock in a more flattering light. Gone was the arrogant ex-officer, and in his place a father who clearly loved his son.

Alice's steps slowed at the thought. Peter was a delight but also a very sick little boy. She hoped it wasn't too late to solve the mystery of his illness. Whatever was causing his symptoms, she was convinced their severity had been worsened by the ungodly treatments inflicted upon him. It broke her heart to think of what he had suffered, and a surge of anger prickled beneath her skin.

If only Mr Whitlock had come to her sooner.

"Good day, Miss Brandon," Mrs Brown called from where she was hanging washing in her garden. "I see ye've just come from the Major's house. Been to see 'is lad?"

"That's not for me to say, Mrs Brown." Alice feared the smile she couldn't contain answered for her. "How is your husband's ulcer healing? Let me know if he needs another poultice."

"Oh, I will. 'e's coming along fine, as I'm sure Mr Whitlock's son will, too, now that yer seeing to 'im."

Alice shook her head, knowing any words of denial would be a waste of breath. Gossip was a way of life in small communities. She just hoped Mr Whitlock wouldn't think she had spoken out of turn when word spread around the village.

"Auntie?" Alice called upon arriving home, troubled not to find Edith puttering before the stove in the corner of the small living room that served as a kitchen. The elderly healer no longer ventured out to the garden or the shed where their homegrown herbs were dried and remedies concocted. She still managed to keep up with the cooking; at least, she had until recently.

"In 'ere, sweetie."

Her great aunt's voice barely made it past the bedroom door, and Alice's heart sank. It was almost noon, and Edith had yet to rise, something Alice could not have imagined occurring even six months prior. Time had caught up with the nonagenarian, time no herbal tonic or ancient remedy could claw back. Edith no longer boasted about seeing her hundredth birthday, and Alice had stopped making cajoling comments assuring her that she would. Tears stung her eyes, as she privately acknowledged that the next celebration of her beloved aunt's life was more likely to be her funeral than a birthday.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Alice lifted her great aunt's wizened hand from where it lay resting against the faded quilt. She ran her thumb gently over the tissue-paper skin, wrinkled and discoloured with bruises that appeared for no reason and took weeks to fade.

"Not feeling up to getting out of bed?" she asked.

Edith's body shook with a raspy chuckle. "I just wanted to know what it feels like to be a lady of leisure."

"What's the verdict?"

"It's overrated. Fetch my robe and slippers?"

Alice hid a smile at her great aunt's peremptory tone and did her bidding. She wrapped her arms around the shoulders she had first cried and then leaned upon, eventually growing strong enough to walk side by side with the woman she admired most in all the world. Feeling those same shoulders now shrunken to the size of a child's brought a lump to Alice's throat, as she helped her aunt to the kitchen table.

" 'ow did it go with Mr Whitlock?" Edith asked.

Over shared cups of peppermint tea, Alice brought her up to date.

"At least 'e 'ad the sense not to let them city doctors poison 'is son with mercury or some such. Do ye think ye can save the lad, or is it too late?"

"I _hope_ I can." Alice took a deep breath to try and relieve the tightness constricting her chest. Developing something of an immunity to death and suffering was inevitable in her line of work, but the loss of a child was always difficult. She had once thought Mr Whitlock devoid of tender feelings, but seeing him with his son had caused her to revise her original opinion. He would be devastated if Peter didn't recover.

"Tell me what yer planning," her aunt asked, sipping her tea while listening to Alice's initial deductions. "I'm glad to 'ear they're willing to give the goat's milk a try, but I think yer right. It's unlikely to be that simple. If 'e's 'aving problems with one food, then it's more'n likely 'e's 'aving problems with another."

"But _which_ foods?" Alice's shoulders slumped. "The poor lad is so weak, I fear there's not much time for experimentation. I need to find something safe for him to eat as soon as possible. Mr Whitlock's housekeeper says the boy can tolerate her vegetable broth, but he needs something to build him up. Do you have any ideas?"

"I might." Edith pointed to a box perched on the top of their lone bookshelf. "Fetch me those papers."

Her great aunt's filing system was haphazard to say the least, and Alice had spent hours cataloguing the treasure trove of notes, journals, and missives Edith had collected over the years. This was one of the last boxes she had yet to go through, and she wiped off the dust before placing it on the table.

Muttering to herself, the elderly healer rummaged through the assortment of papers. " 'ere it is," she declared triumphantly after several moments had passed, waving a folded sheath with her gnarled fingers before slumping back in her seat.

"You should have let me look," Alice said.

Edith harrumphed. "Didn't know what I was looking for until I found it." The elderly woman picked up a monocle from its place in a chipped china bowl on the kitchen table, cleaned it on her robe, and then held it up to her eye. "I don't know if ye remember Mabel who lived over the far side of Thornlie, but she wrote me about a similar case some years back."

Alice stifled a snort, aware the "some years back" could be upwards of twenty by the look of the yellowed parchment Edith was reading.

"An officer and 'is wife sought her 'elp with their daughter. They'd already lost one child, a boy, and the girl was wasting away, much like Peter. Mabel tried her on the goat's milk, but it only helped a little."

"Oh." Alice's shoulders slumped along with her tentative hopes.

"Steady on." Edith patted her hand. "It says 'ere the father was transferred to the Orient. 'is wife thought it'd be the end of the little girl, but to their surprise, the lass thrived. She put on weight, and 'er symptoms disappeared."

Alice's eyes brightened. "Was her recovery permanent?"

Edith muttered quietly as her bony fingers traced the words. "They were called back 'ome after three years, and the girl got sick again. Mabel suggested they match 'er diet as close as they could to the one she'd been fed during their years abroad. The mother was willing, but the father put his trust in the military physicians. Poor lass only lived another year."

Alice echoed Edith's sigh. The two women, one at the beginning of her healing career and the other at the end of it, shared a sad look.

"An Oriental diet." Alice drummed her fingers on the table while she gave it some thought. "I've not come across it before. Does your friend make any specific recommendations?"

Edith grinned a gap-toothed smile. "Rice, rice, and more rice. She says they also ate chicken, fish, a bit o' red meat when they could get it, eggs, sundry vegetables—some common and some I've never 'eard of—a variety of spices I'd be wary of feeding a child, and a list of exotic fruits we've not a 'ope of acquiring in our corner of the world. Mabel mentions peaches as being mild on the digestion—apples, too—though I'd 'old off unless they've been stewed. She recommends bananas, but they're 'ard to come by and devilishly expensive."

"So, a fairly well-rounded diet just lacking in grains and starches, well, other than the rice. Do you think it could be that simple?"

Edith shrugged a bony shoulder. "Depriving an Englishman of his bread, pudding, and cakes would cause a mutiny in most 'ouseholds, but desperate folks are more likely to try desperate measures."

"Mr Whitlock certainly falls into that category."

"Aye. The diet might not work for Peter, but it's worth a try."

Alice shared her aunt's opinion and set about writing a list of allowable foods. "What about potatoes, turnips and swedes?" She raised her head, and Edith grimaced.

"Don't think they 'ave them in the Orient, but ye could try introducing them once the lad improves."

Once, not if. Alice could only hope her aunt's words proved prophetic.

After preparing a light luncheon for them both, she made sure Edith was settled in her favourite chair with a book. Then she made her way down the garden path to the ramshackle shed where she brewed her tinctures to formulate a tonic for Peter. The space was a firetrap, cramped and ill-suited to its purpose. Still, a part of Alice would miss it when she moved her business to the accommodations being prepared for her in the middle of the village alongside the new schoolroom. She had wrestled with the idea for some time before agreeing to Edward's offer to build her a proper shop where she could prepare, store, and sell her wares. Forkton did not boast an apothecary, and Alice was wary of being accused of encroaching upon the territory of the Worshipful Company of Apothecaries. Her training might have been of the homegrown variety, but Alice's knowledge was on par with any guild member. Regardless, a woman could neither undergo an apprenticeship nor be certified to dispense medications prescribed by physicians. Not that she wanted to. In her opinion, one she wasn't always wise in keeping to herself, many of the compounds they used did more harm than good.

Like her predecessors for generations past, Alice trod treacherous ground practising her profession. Mr Whitlock wasn't the only member of society to view her craft with suspicion. While midwives were granted a modicum of recognition by the male medical fraternity, female herbalists were considered beneath their notice. A combination of Forkton's nearest physician being renowned for his incompetence and lack of sobriety, along with the Viscount Masen's steadfast support, meant Alice enjoyed a level of respect and opportunity granted too few in her position. That didn't mean she shouldn't be careful.

Calling her new healing rooms, as she privately considered them, any such designation would bring unwanted attention from the authorities, which was why she had settled on the name Forkton Herbal Emporium. Alice and her trainees saw patients primarily in their homes, a time-honoured tradition that was mostly overlooked by the powers-that-be. That she fully intended seeing patients and performing minor procedures, discreetly, of course, in one of the anterooms of her new building would not be advertised. What she was looking forward to most was having the space and facilities to properly dry and store her herbs, safely brew tinctures, and concoct and decoct her growing arsenal of remedies. She would also be able to set up a roster, of sorts, to more evenly share the workload with her fellow healers as they achieved proficiency. With a proper shopfront that kept regular hours, the village folk could seek advice and purchase remedies and unguents during daylight hours, inspiring Alice to hope she might fashion a life that did not include quite so many middle-of-the-night awakenings.

Not all her patients would be up to making the journey to the village, but any reduction in the miles she was forced to walk each week would be a godsend. Maybe it was time she accepted Edward's offer to provide her with a horse and chaise. If only caring for the creature wouldn't add to her workload.

As expected, word had spread amongst the villagers that the Masen estate manager had turned to Alice for help. She neither confirmed nor denied their assumptions, despite repeated questioning when she checked in on patients and her trainees at various homes in the village. It didn't stop them offering her their best wishes for Peter's recovery, or her tucking them away with her own hopes.

"Mr Whitlock." Alice greeted him with a nod late in the day when he opened the door to the manager's residence. Her shoulder brushed his arm as she walked past, and she was surprised to hear his harsh intake of breath. She had barely grazed him, but he sprang back like he had been burned. Casting him a puzzled look, she saw no evidence of his usual disdain. In fact, from his heightened colour and sheepish expression, she would have said he looked embarrassed. Frowning at his odd response, she continued through to the kitchen in search of Mrs Carter, leaving him to trail behind. The man was certainly an enigma.

"That's Peter's tonic?" he asked when she placed the bottle on the table.

Alice refrained from rolling her eyes. Stating the obvious was an annoyance of hers, but he was justifiably worried. It wouldn't hurt her to show him some grace.

With a nod she acknowledged the brown bottle was, indeed, Peter's tonic, sweetened with honey to make it more palatable for a child's sensitive taste buds. After explaining to the housekeeper how it should be administered, she waited until all three of them were seated at the kitchen table to tell them what she had learned from her aunt.

"It's difficult to get one's head around this idea that foods could be behind Peter's years of ill health."

Mr Whitlock's scepticism was understandable. Alice just hoped he wouldn't interfere with her methods.

"Do you honestly believe this Oriental diet will make a difference?" he asked, sounding more desperate than suspicious.

"It's worth a try, and if nothing else, it gives us a starting point," she said, trying to find a balance between self-deprecation and hubris. She didn't want him to give up before they had begun, but neither was she in the business of offering false hope.

"Oriental. Well, I never." Mrs Carter stood and began rummaging in the pantry. "I've got a little rice on 'and, and I can get some more from the grocer's. It's bland, I'll give ye, but so are the dishes I've been feeding the lad. I wonder why bread and barley would be a problem and not rice."

"I cannot say," Alice admitted with a shrug, never less than honest with her patients.

"But it helped this other child? She recovered, at least, until she went back to a more normal diet?" Mr Whitlock leaned forward, his large frame taut with tension.

"Yes, but I can't guarantee it will benefit Peter the same way."

"I am not asking for guarantees, Miss Brandon." He blinked and glanced away, his eyes suspiciously bright. "You have given me hope, and that is more than anyone else has been able to offer in a very long time."

"Aye, and the treatment's not difficult." Mrs Carter nodded thoughtfully. "Peter won't even be made to suffer in the process. Them doctors took so many bowls of his blood, it's a wonder there's any left to keep 'is little 'eart beating. Not to mention making him vomit until there was naught but bile left in 'is belly, poor lad."

Mr Whitlock closed his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing with his repeated swallows. Seemingly ignorant of her employer's distress, the matronly cook began to scour her notes for recipes where she could substitute rice for the more conventional ingredients. Alice, on the other hand, found herself all too aware of the man, and his pain. She normally left it to family members to comfort one another, but other than his housekeeper, he appeared quite alone. Blurring the boundaries would not be wise, not with this man, so she resisted the urge to reach across the table and clasp his hand.

"I had best be off." She stood and placed her journal in her bag. Heading for the door, she left Mrs Carter with plans to bake Peter a rice custard for dinner using the goat's milk the eccentric Mrs Burredge had supplied, for a fee, of course.

Mr Whitlock caught up with Alice in the hallway. "Might I have a word before you depart?" He steered her by the elbow towards the parlour. While his touch wasn't remotely improper, she was acutely aware of his fingers pressing lightly into her cloth-covered flesh. Warmth spread up her arm, and her stomach tightened in an altogether inappropriate manner. As soon as he released her, she took a step back.

"I can't stay long," she said, more harshly than she had intended. "My great aunt isn't well, and I must get back."

"I'm sorry to hear that, and I promise not to keep you, it's just . . ."

Looking everywhere but at Alice, Mr Whitlock seemed as uncomfortable as she was. It was nothing new, she told herself. Tension swirled between them whenever they were in close proximity. The difference this time was that no insults had been exchanged. It left her uneasy as to the source of their mutual unease.

Heat rose in her cheeks, triggering a surge of anger. Blushing was not an affliction from which she suffered, and she wasn't about to start now.

"Spit it out, Mr Whitlock. The hour is growing late."

"It is about your fee, Miss Brandon."

"My fee?" Alice's scowl deepened.

"Yes, for your services, the tonic, the powder you said you'll be sending to London for. I was wondering if you could give me a rough idea of how much to expect"—he straightened his shoulders and looked her in the eye—"and if I might be able to put it on account until the end of the month. I realise it was wrong of me to seek you out when I am unable to make immediate payment, but—"

"That's perfectly fine. I don't expect payment on the day of my visit, and even if I did, you are worrying unnecessarily. You will find my fee a trifle in comparison to your average physician."

Her attempt to lighten the moment fell flat. For once, Alice didn't enjoy the sight of the two red slashes that adorned Mr Whitlock's angular cheekbones. Hoping to put him out of his misery, she named a sum, assuring him it was all-inclusive. Her confusion grew when his shoulders visibly sagged.

"You are too kind, Miss Brandon."

"It is the same as I would charge anyone else."

The hint of a smile twitched his moustache. "Then, I suspect you are too generous."

Alice never expected to be so accused, not from this particular source, but she couldn't manage an answering smile. She had plenty of patients who struggled financially, and in those instances arrangements were made and the barter system put to good use. There had even been times when she had battled to keep the wolf from her own door. But it was unsettling to discover a man of Mr Whitlock's status in the same predicament. Quite aside from his prestigious and, she imagined, well-paid position as the Masen estate manager, he was a retired major in receipt of a military pension and the younger son of a baron. That he was employed in any manner was a puzzle.

While it was well-known that some physicians preyed on the fears of loved ones, Alice was appalled to think they could have driven a man like Mr Whitlock to penury. Not that it would have been the first time, she reminded herself with a quiet sigh. Isabella's father, a curate at the time, had been left in a similar predicament when his wife fell ill. It wouldn't have been so bad if the expensive treatments her physicians had espoused had been beneficial, but in Alice's opinion they had caused Mrs Swan nothing but undue suffering before she died. Seeing good people taken advantage of made Alice's blood boil. Surprisingly, she now grouped Peter's father in that category.

"There's no hurry to make payment, Mr Whitlock." Giving in to her earlier impulse, she placed a hand on his arm. He didn't flinch this time but stared at it for a moment responding with a stiff nod.

~D&D~

 **Thank you for reading, and extra special thanks to those who take the time to review. I am an utter failure at replies, unless I see a 'non-rhetorical' question or can't resist making a comment. I figure you guys would prefer me to spend the hour or two each evening it would take me to reply to reviews on updating the story and writing outtakes, etc. P** **lease know, I read and cherish every one.**

 **The original version of Duty and Desire is now live on Amazon in ebook form for $2.99 USD, and the print version should appear in the next day or two. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to those amazingly generous people who have chosen to both read the Twific version here and purchase the original version as well. You humble me with your support. I honestly have tears in my eyes while I am typing this.**

 **xx Elise**

 **PS: See you tomorrow!**


	7. Hopeful

**Hello Again! Thank you to all you lovely people who have purchased the ebook version of Duty and Desire off Amazon. It's made the Regency top 100! - Which is only about the 15 000th best selling book on Amazon, but still. ;)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 6**

 **Hopeful**

Alice visited Peter several times in the ensuing days but saw little change. The boy remained pale and listless, sleeping much and eating little.

"His colour's a bit better," Mrs Carter noted as she led Alice to Peter's room towards the end of the second week. "The dark rings under 'is eyes aren't so severe, and 'is appetite 'as picked up. 'e's even getting crotchety—complaining about taking 'is medicine—a good sign if ye ask me. Shows some spirit, which 'e's been sorely lacking."

Alice agreed, leaving behind another bottle of tonic and some of the recently arrived slippery elm powder. She had seen Mr Whitlock ride out on estate business earlier in the day and managed to time her visit for while he was away. It hadn't been deliberate, or so she told herself as she made her way back down the road to the village. Neither was there any reason to be concerned about the continued feeling of discomfort she experienced whenever he was near. He was a handsome man, with his well-honed physique, golden locks, and dashing beard. She had eyes, and there was no point denying the obvious.

It was just that the obvious hadn't affected her in quite the same way before.

It would seem now they were no longer engaged in constant verbal sparring, Mr Whitlock's particular appeal had aroused her feminine sensibilities. She neither approved, appreciated, nor had any intention of acknowledging the attraction . . . well, to anyone but herself. It was a darned nuisance but nothing she hadn't overcome before.

In her eighteenth year, Alice's father had arranged for her to be presented to society. Nothing so grand as a London debut, of course, not with her dubious background. But her gowns had been the latest fashion, her conversation well-informed, and her promised dowry quite generous. She had received considerable interest from the eligible gentlemen of the day, which wasn't all that surprising. Alice had inherited the same dark hair, green eyes, and creamy complexion that had enticed her father to seduce her mother, a village girl working as a maid.

Not nearly so naïve, Alice had nevertheless been quite taken by one Mr Jerome Younger, the second son of a squire. A handsome young man with modest but respectable prospects, his pretty words had led her to believe he was smitten—until her father died, her promised dowry disappeared, and his interest waned with the suddenness of a candle being snuffed out by a gust of wind through an open door. Overwhelmed by her sudden change of circumstance, Alice hadn't been all that bothered by the desertion. But she had learned to guard her heart.

In the years that followed, she had carved out a new life for herself, one that didn't include pandering to a society that could so easily reject one of its own. Neither did it include matrimony. She had become adept at ignoring the feelings of attraction that sometimes arose when she was around a member of the opposite sex. The sensations would soon fade, especially as she didn't even like Mr Whitlock—well, she _hadn't_ liked him before she had witnessed his devotion to his son.

If only she could stop thinking about him all the time, stop remembering the way his hair curled around the back of his ears, or the way his moustache twitched, and fine creases appeared at the corners of his eyes when he was on the verge of a smile. Now that she had put her antipathy aside, she had to admit he could be quite entertaining, always ready with a relevant comment or an interesting anecdote at social gatherings. It was something she wouldn't have suspected, or been likely to witness firsthand, but her close bond with the district's newest viscountess had put Alice's name back on the invitation lists of the local society. Oft times she refused, too busy for such frivolity, but occasionally she gave in to Isabella's pleading and attended some soiree or another. As Edward's closest acquaintance, Mr Whitlock was invariably in attendance, and she had discovered the man could be quite charming, witty even . . . which was completely irrelevant.

"Good day, Miss Brandon. You are just the person I'd hoped to see."

The object of her thoughts stepped out of the shadows between her new shop and the adjacent school, and Alice's heart leaped in her chest. Assuring herself it was fright, not the man himself, that caused the reaction, she offered a feeble wave.

"Good day, Mr Whitlock."

His smile faded at her sour tone. "Is there something amiss? Is Peter all right?"

"No worse than the last time I saw him."

"No worse . . . that's good." Mr Whitlock gestured for her to precede him into the building that was almost ready for her to take possession. "But it does beg the question, how long before we'll know if the treatment is working? He is still so weak, and he sleeps far too much for a lad his age."

"Patience, Mr Whitlock." Alice walked around the long counter to the far side of the room where customers would come to buy her herbs and tonics, wanting to put a bit more space between them. "Peter was close to death when you sought my help. It's going to take time for him to recover. I predict a slow, gradual improvement. That's if we're on the right path."

"You have your doubts?"

His alarm was tangible, and Alice pushed aside her uneasiness to repeat the conversation she had just had with his housekeeper. "Time will tell, and I do detect a slight improvement."

"That is very good news." He let out a shaky sigh then changed the subject. "I was just speaking to the foreman before the men went on their break, and he said the painting should be finished in a few days."

"I can't wait." Smiling, she looked around her, allowing some of her excitement to show.

"How are things going with your new assistants?" he asked as they wandered through the building.

"Very well." Alice managed a genuine smile. "It wasn't easy choosing from all the applicants, but the women have turned out even better than I'd hoped. I am looking forward to continuing their instruction in more spacious surrounds than my little garden shed. Next year, I might even expand my number of students."

"Midwifery and herbalism are popular career choices?" Mr Whitlock sounded sceptical, and Alice fought to control her ire.

"Indeed. When word spread that Edward had offered to pay the wages of any trainees I might like to take on, I was inundated by women with an interest in the healing arts. Most were unsuitable, as I needed them to have at least a basic education and be available to put in long hours of study. Plus, they had to be willing to forego marriage or have already had their family and no longer be beholden to a husband."

"That seems a lot to ask." Mr Whitlock eyed her curiously. "I thought it wasn't uncommon for village women to work to supplement their family's income."

"Mending, taking in laundry, or assisting their husband in the family business. But no man is going to tolerate his wife being called upon in the middle of the night to tend to some _other_ man's sick family—or the man himself. Then there's the midwifery, which I'm sure you recall from the birth of the twins is a time-consuming business. Husbands want their wives at their beck and call, tending their homes, and caring for their children, not gallivanting off all over the countryside."

Jasper pulled a face. "When you put it like that I can't say I blame them."

"Yours is the typical stance." Alice shrugged. "And why I shall never marry."

"Do all women who practise your profession remain single?"

"Generally, though some manage by working only locally and choosing a more accommodating husband than is the norm."

"Henpecked, you mean."

Mr Whitlock's moustache twitched with what she had come to recognise as the beginnings of a smile, but Alice did not match it.

"Why am I not surprised you would take such an unenlightened view?" she asked.

"I would have called it conventional."

"And do you always follow convention?" She arched a brow.

He opened his mouth, looking ready to argue, then closed it with a sigh. "No, I don't. Not anymore." His expression turned sheepish. "You provide a valuable service, Miss Brandon, and I can appreciate that you have made considerable sacrifices to pursue your craft."

Alice could tell the concession cost him. It was a pity he had waited so long to ask for her help with Peter, but it mustn't have been easy humbling himself to the village herbalist—a _woman_.

~D&D~

Alice put aside the journal she was attempting to update. She had been working hard, spending long hours caring for patients and seeing to the finishing touches on the new emporium, and she was in need of a break. There was no other acceptable reason for why she kept replaying every word of her most recent conversations with Mr Whitlock in her head. Almost a week had passed since she last encountered him, and the temptation to seek him out was growing by the day.

 _Maybe I should. Maybe spending some time with the man would rid me of the ridiculous notion that I am_ missing _him._

 _And maybe it would make it worse._

Taking a break was a good idea, just not one that involved visiting a fair-haired gentleman with a too-arrogant tilt of chin, whom she had only recently ceased despising.

Her three assistants were quite capable of managing without her, a fact they were quick to echo when she told them she had granted herself a day off. After arranging for Marjory, her neighbour's daughter, to keep an eye on her aunt Edith, she took advantage of the dry autumn morning to trek up the hill and visit Isabella and the babies.

The thought of seeing her godchildren brought a smile to Alice's lips. Being well acquainted with almost every young child in the district, she had believed herself immune to bias, but she couldn't deny harbouring a soft spot for little David and Elizabeth. That both Isabella and she had given up on the possibility of having children of their own probably had something to do with it. Isabella had mourned the loss, and Alice was happy her friend hadn't been deprived of the opportunity to experience marriage and motherhood after all. The sacrifice had never bothered Alice, however, as it was expected for one of her calling.

Standing over the twins, with their little hands entwined as they lay cuddled together in their cot, she felt a tug on her heartstrings. Not that she had any desire to be a mother herself, of course. She was far too busy with her career. Becoming a godmother was an excellent compromise, and though she had doubts about her suitability, she felt a wave of gratitude for Isabella having chosen her for the role. She was actually looking forward to the christening ceremony, which was to be held in less than a week, and not at all because it would mean spending time with Mr Whitlock.

Reaching down, she gently stroked David's cheek before giving his much smaller sister a little pat. "They are adorable," she whispered before following Isabella through to the adjoining sitting room.

"They do look angelic when they are sleeping," Isabella said with a sigh. "But, oh my, they keep us on our toes when they are awake. Barely three months old, and they have turned the entire household on its head."

"And you wouldn't have it any other way."

Isabella's lips curved in a soft smile. "I told myself that being married to Edward was more than enough, but now that David and Elizabeth are here, I can't bear to think of life without them . . . or that I just as easily could have been absent from the picture."

A shudder racked her shoulders, and Alice gave her friend's arm a reassuring pat.

"Your babes are thriving, and you seem quite recovered, so I'd waste no more time on fearful imaginings."

"You are right." Isabella straightened her shoulders and faced her friend. "I can't thank you enough, Alice. You were instrumental in saving all our lives—Edward's, the twins', and mine more than once."

"Just part of the service." Alice shrugged off her friend's praise, though she was just as relieved by the outcome. Things didn't always turn out so well, and she had learned to celebrate the victories, as grieving her losses could become overwhelming if she let it.

"Speaking of service . . ." Isabella eyed her curiously. "I was so pleased when Edward told me Jasper had finally relented and asked for your help. You didn't make it too hard on him, did you?"

Alice blew out a breath. The purpose of her visit was to chase the man from her thoughts, not focus on him deliberately.

"I have been perfectly civil to Mr Whitlock." She was unable to hide her exasperation, and Isabella's face fell. "No, really, I have. We've managed to call a truce for the sake of his son."

"That is wonderful."

Isabella's smile was larger than the situation warranted, and Alice felt a prickle of unease.

"I knew if you got to know Jasper you would realise he is not a bad person. Edward thinks the world of him, and I quite enjoy his company also. It will make life so much easier now that the two of you have become friends."

"I don't know if I would go that far."

"Well, I would." Isabella's smile widened even further. "Jasper obviously has your best interests at heart, as he has spoken to Edward on your behalf. He is very concerned for your safety, what with your having to walk all over the countryside, sometimes in the dead of night."

"I manage perfectly well—"

"But you shouldn't have to. You have been lucky all these years, but it's dangerous for a woman to be out and about on her own."

Alice opened her mouth to object, but Isabella quelled Alice's objection with a look. They'd had this conversation before, but since Alice hadn't had much choice in the matter, it had always been moot. Things were different now.

"I can't say I am looking forward to another winter," she admitted.

"Exactly." Isabella's obvious relief at Alice's concession turned to remorse. "I am just sorry neither Edward nor I were astute enough to realise why you rejected his earlier offer of transport. Jasper pointed out you are far too busy to be caring for a horse—a problem for him also—so he suggested a joint arrangement. The two of you are practically neighbours, with just that empty field between your cottage and the estate manager's residence. Jasper already has a small stable and fenced yard, and he is going to see to their extension. That way he can keep extra horses and a decent covered carriage for the two of you to share. He prefers to ride most of the time or drive his single-horse chaise. But there are some occasions when he could do with a driver, and having a stable boy will ease some of his load. Most of the time, however, the driver and carriage will be at your disposal. Isn't that wonderful?"

Alice snapped her mouth shut when she became aware it was gaping. Edward had been incredibly generous with the funding for the shop and paying wages for both Alice and her assistants. But she had already allocated any spare monies. Paying for horses, carriages, and the servants to care for them . . . they were talking a small fortune. "I don't think Mr Whitlock is in a position to afford such an undertaking."

Isabella waved her hand. "He won't have to, as the estate will cover it, but it was Mr Whitlock's idea, specifically with you in mind. If that's not an overture of friendship, I don't know what is."

"Friendship, yes. Well, it's possible, I suppose." Alice wiped her suddenly damp hands on her skirt. "To be honest, I imagine Mr Whitlock is more concerned about my being readily available to tend to his son. He is probably worried Peter will need me, and I shall be stuck in a neighbouring village."

"How is Peter?" Isabella asked, ignoring Alice's less-than-flattering interpretation of the estate manager's motives. "The last time I spoke with Jasper, he said there'd been some small improvement?"

"That about sums it up." Alice nodded jerkily, glad of the change of topic. "His belly's not as swollen, and his appetite has picked up. He's still very weak, of course, but it is early days."

"Are you speaking about Peter?" Edward asked, entering the room and crossing to his wife's side. After kissing her cheek, he took a seat and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yes, we are," Alice replied.

Isabella's smile faded when she spotted Edward's frown. "Is there a problem?"

"Hopefully not." Edward patted Isabella's hand then addressed Alice directly. "I was just in a meeting with Jasper when a messenger arrived and said he was needed at home."

"That doesn't sound good." Alice stood and smoothed her skirts. "Did he mention if Peter had suffered a relapse?"

Edward shrugged his broad shoulders. "Last I heard, the lad was doing a little better. Jasper seemed quite hopeful."

"As was I." Alice couldn't hide her concern, and she readily accepted when Edward offered to call for a carriage to drive her back down to the village.

 **~D &D~**

 **Darn these cliffies! Editors encourage you to leave a chapter on a tense note, so readers will keep turning the page. That's all very well when you have a page to turn! At least we only have to wait until tomorrow and not something dreadful like a week. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	8. Concern

**I'm super tired tonight (spent the day babysitting my granddaughter who has a rotten flu), and I almost forgot to post tonight's chapter!**

 **As most of you have worked out, our poor lad is suffering from Lactose Intolerance and Coeliac Disease, a severe allergy to gluten which is found in wheat, oats, barley and rye. It was first named by a Greek physician, Aretaeus of Cappadocia, living in the first century AD, who wrote about "The Coeliac Affection." It wasn't mentioned again until the early 19th century (the time frame of our story which is set in 1813) when it was described as a chronic diarrheal disorder ... causing malnutrition and characterized by a gas-distended abdomen. The doctor who first wrote about the condition noted that " Some patients have appeared to derive considerable advantage from living almost entirely upon rice." This information did not become common knowledge for another 75 years.**

 **Like many of you, I know, from personal experience, that the symptoms of this condition can be devastating, and the improvement in a person's health who sticks to the diet (over time) can be remarkable. Life saving, even. :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 7**

 **Concern**

Alice didn't even have the chance to knock before Mr Whitlock opened the door and pulled her inside.

"This way, Miss Brandon. Quickly."

"What's happened?" She struggled to undo her bonnet with him holding her elbow and was forced to toss it into the parlour on their way past.

Not bothering to reply, Mr Whitlock hurried her up the narrow stairs. His body radiated tension, and the tentative hopes she had allowed to rise dwindled. While there had been no dramatic improvement with Peter, he did seem to be doing a little better. Now, with his grim-faced father all but dragging her in his wake, she feared the worst.

"Mr Whitlock, I must insist you tell me what has happened."

"I would rather you see for yourself," he said, swinging wide the door to Peter's room and ushering her inside. Alice took two steps then came to a halt when she saw the bed was empty.

"Peter?" She looked around, her eyes alighting on the small, tow-haired figure stretched out on a rug, playing with a collection of wooden figures.

"Miss Brandon!" The boy's eyes lit up, and he scrambled to his feet. "Come see what Papa gave me! We've been playing toy soldiers, and he said if I'm really good, and if you say it's all right, I might be able to go outside to play."

"Good heavens," she murmured, not quite believing what she was seeing.

"Can I, Miss Brandon? Can I go outside?"

The boy bounced up and down, and Alice glanced to his father who was running a hand through his uncharacteristically tousled hair.

"Mrs Carter couldn't keep him quiet. He kept climbing out of bed, saying he wanted to 'explore,' of all things. She didn't know what to do, so she sent for me, and _I_ wasn't sure what to do, so I was about to come looking for you when I saw the carriage roll up."

Alice couldn't recall seeing Mr Whitlock so flustered. Not that she blamed him. The turnabout in Peter's condition was extraordinary.

"He gobbled down 'is omelette this morning," Mrs Carter said from the doorway. "And 'e made quick work of a 'earty bowl of beef stew for lunch, thickened with the ground rice flour like ye suggested, with a double 'elping of custard and stewed apples for dessert. I've never known the lad to 'ave such an appetite . . . or so much energy. There was no making 'im take a nap this afternoon. He just wants to go outside."

"Please, please, please?" Peter practically vibrated in place.

"Let me look you over first," Alice said, hiding her own excitement behind a professional air. "Come lie on the bed, and I shall examine you."

"But I don't want to lie down. I'm not tired. I want to play!" The boy's skinny arms folded, and his lips formed a mutinous line.

"Peter?" Mr Whitlock sounded more bewildered than scolding, and he looked to Alice in alarm. "He has never been like this before, but it's a good sign, isn't it?"

"An excellent sign." Alice gave him a reassuring smile before kneeling down and meeting his son's gaze. Her lip twitched as she recognised the same stubborn look she had seen in his father's eyes on numerous occasions. The expression normally irritated her no end, but in this instance, she couldn't have been happier.

"Very well, Peter. You don't have to lie down, but you must be a good boy and let me look at you. Then I shall decide if it is all right for you to go outside."

His cheeks billowed, and he huffed in exasperation. But then he dropped his arms and stood still while Alice felt his brow and checked the glands in his throat and beneath his armpits. His skin wasn't overly warm, and the glands were less swollen and not so tender to her touch. Taking hold of Peter's hands, she waited until she had his full attention.

"It can be for only a short while, but if you promise to mind your father, you can have a play in the garden."

The boy's eyes widened, and he threw himself at Alice, wrapping his arms around her neck.

"Thank you, thank you, Miss Brandon. You are my favourite person in the whole world." Peter pulled out of her embrace before she had a chance to respond and then hurled himself, with equal force, at his father. "You, too, Papa. And Mrs Carter. Now can I go outside? Please?"

Dragging his gaze from his son's pleading look, Mr Whitlock turned his stunned expression on Alice. "Are you sure it is safe? He has barely been out of bed in months . . . years, really."

"It is pleasant enough outside, though I suggest you rug him up warm."

Mrs Carter immediately crossed to the dresser and began rummaging through the drawers. Peter squirmed and wriggled while she helped him into his outside clothes, the boots and jacket looking like they had never been worn. Realising they probably hadn't been, Alice's eyes began to burn.

"You don't think it will be too much for him?" Mr Whitlock placed his hand on her arm, and she blinked away tears. It wasn't like her to become emotional, but it was understandable, she supposed. She hadn't been at all sure the lad was going to recover.

"I don't expect he will last too long," she said, and Mr Whitlock's eyes widened in alarm. "I just mean he will tire quickly. It is wonderful he is feeling better, but I have seen this sort of thing with children before. As soon as they have the slightest increase in vigour, they want to act upon it. But keep in mind it will take time to build up his stamina."

"Then you think he is on the mend? The diet and treatments are working?"

Mr Whitlock did have a tendency to question the obvious, but Alice let it slide. "It certainly looks that way, but I shall stay and keep watch over him with you, if you'd like."

He sighed with undisguised relief. "Thank you, Miss Brandon. I was going to come see you yesterday, as Peter mentioned wanting to get out of bed. But then I was held up over at the new mill until after dark, and I didn't want to disturb you."

"I wouldn't have minded." She dragged her gaze away from Peter's bouncing form to return his father's smile. "I was up decocting tonics until late. I am a bit of a night owl."

"An early bird, too, from what I have heard. It is a wonder you can function on so little sleep."

Alice's shoulder lifted in an indifferent shrug. "I manage. My aunt used to tend the herb garden, but she is too frail now and her memory unreliable when it comes to preparing the tinctures. I think I might see if _our_ new stable boy could give me a hand with the garden when he's not busy taking care of the horses." She gave Mr Whitlock a pointed look, but before he could open his mouth to defend his intrusion into her business, she let him off the hook. "It is all right. My life is going to be much easier with access to a carriage and driver. Isabella told me all about it, and I am grateful for your intervention."

"You are most welcome, Miss Brandon."

He offered her a winged elbow, but Alice hesitated to accept. In the past, she would have reminded him that such courtesies weren't necessary for one of her situation. But she was reluctant to revert to the animosity that had characterised their previous encounters. Peter's improvement was nigh on miraculous, and it would be churlish to spoil Mr Whitlock's enjoyment. If only his touch wasn't so unsettling. Although this time, technically, she would be the one touching him.

Ignoring the tremulous sensations skittering along her nerves and the firmness of Mr Whitlock's muscular forearm, Alice kept her eyes forward as they made their way out to the small garden behind the estate manager's residence. Peter, his hand clasped in his father's, chattered with excitement but fell silent when they reached the door that led outside. The lump returned to Alice's throat as she considered the enormity of this seemingly minor event. The poor boy had missed out on so much, and Alice found the fingers of her other hand crossing in hopes his sudden improvement was the beginning of a transformation, not an aberration.

"Well, Peter, here's the garden . . . such as it is." Mr Whitlock sent Alice an embarrassed look. The lawn was overgrown and the shrubbery in need of pruning, but the autumn leaves were starting to turn, adding splashes of colour.

"It is lovely." Alice smiled at him, then down at Peter, who was hiding behind his father's leg. His courage seemed to have deserted him, and she reached out her hand. "Shall we go exploring? Who knows? We might find some fairies hiding at the bottom of the garden, maybe even some _boy_ fairies."

"Pixies!"

"Right." Alice smiled and crouched down to put herself at Peter's level. "Shall we go find some pixies, Peter?"

"And fairies." He nodded shyly. "I don't mind if they are girls."

The three of them made a slow circuit of the garden, with Peter staying tucked between the two adults. Alice wondered if he was already tiring, his early enthusiasm dissipating with the return of the dreaded fatigue that kept him bedridden. But then he spotted a butterfly, its orange and black wings fluttering as it danced amongst the multicoloured leaves. With a squeal, Peter was off chasing after the "fairy bug," as he called it, before becoming distracted by the sight of a lizard sunning itself on a rock. Crouching down with his hands clasped tightly together as if he was resisting the temptation to touch, he studied it for some time until a line of ants marched by, and he followed them back to their nest. All the while, Mr Whitlock's fierce, devoted gaze trailed his son around the garden.

Alice watched him out of the corner of her eye, taking in his clenched jaw and flared nostrils. Breaking her own rules, she placed her hand on his arm. She planned to remove it almost immediately, but he surprised her by covering it with his own.

"It is wonderful to see him like this," she said in a soft voice. "I can only imagine how happy you must be."

"Happy, relieved, and beyond grateful, Miss Brandon." He turned to face her. "I shall never be able to thank you enough, and I can't tell you how sorry I am I didn't put my trust in your abilities sooner."

Not in any way wanting to gloat, Alice couldn't deny she was curious. "Would you mind telling me _why_ you were so opposed to my help?"

Swallowing hard, he returned to watching Peter, and Alice regretted her impulse. It wasn't the time to question the poor man when he was holding onto his composure by the thinnest margin. She tried to think of something to say to change the subject, but before she could, he cleared his throat.

"It is a long story," he said, his tone gruff. "Maybe something better suited to another occasion when we have more time and I am not so . . . so . . ." He shrugged and glanced her way, his expression helpless.

Emotional was the word he was looking for, but Alice didn't think he would appreciate her providing it. Instead, she squeezed the fingers that were gripping hers. He gave a start and stared down at their joined hands, his mouth dropping open.

"Forgive me." He released her and stepped back, his heightened colour testament to his embarrassment.

"I didn't mind," Alice said, speaking the truth. Having Mr Whitlock hold her hand had been pleasant, though she would have preferred the circumstances were a little less fraught.

Giving herself a shake, Alice wondered where such a thought had come from. She had reached out to Mr Whitlock in a show of support, nothing more. Deriving pleasure from the contact, especially considering the man's vulnerability, was both unethical and out of character.

"I had best be off." She took a step towards the house, reluctantly pausing when Mr Whitlock bid her wait.

"Peter, it is time for Miss Brandon to leave." He gestured for the lad to join them, and Alice felt guilty that she had been about to rush off without offering the boy a proper farewell. He ran towards them and, once again, threw himself at Alice, wrapping his arms around her skirt-clad legs.

"Thank you so much for letting me come out to play, Miss Brandon. I like you lots, even if your medicine tastes like bugs and dirt and worms all mixed together."

"Peter!" Mr Whitlock looked to Alice in alarm. "Apologise to Miss Brandon at once."

"No, it's all right." She ruffled the boy's hair. "I try to make them palatable, but it is a big ask for a child to drink an herbal tonic. Even grown men complain about the taste. You should have heard Edward carry on, and he is a retired officer."

"Yes, well." Mr Whitlock gave her an uncertain look then set about detaching his son from where he continued to cling, limpet-like, to Alice's legs.

Flustered by the feel of Mr Whitlock's fingers brushing against her hips and thighs, Alice felt her cheeks ignite. Seemingly unaware of the havoc he had wreaked on her senses, Mr Whitlock lifted Peter into his arms and continued on as if nothing untoward had occurred.

"It is kind of you to be so understanding, but Peter shouldn't have expressed such an ungallant opinion. I am afraid my son's poor health has caused a delay in his education, and he is in dire need of civilising. I can assure you, I shall be rectifying the situation immediately."

"Please don't be too harsh on him." Out of concern for Peter, Alice reached out to Mr Whitlock once more, briefly touching his arm. "He is only just on the road to recovery."

"But he _should_ know better than to accost a lady."

"I am so rarely on the receiving end of an embrace that it is invariably welcomed."

"It is?" Mr Whitlock's eyes widened. "I mean, that is very gracious of you, Miss Brandon. You are kindness personified, and you may rest assured I shall deal sensitively with my son both during and beyond his recovery."

Alice questioned the sincerity of his words but, detecting no sarcasm in his tone nor mockery in his gaze, she was left with no choice but to take them at face value.

"That is . . . excellent. Here's hoping his recovery continues without incident," she said.

Mr Whitlock looked down to where Peter had laid his head to rest against his father's broad shoulder. "You think he might suffer a relapse? I shouldn't have allowed him to stay outside for so long. It has been too much for him."

"Not at all." Alice had to run to match Mr Whitlock's stride as he hurried back to the house. "The fresh air will have done him good, though I wouldn't be surprised if he takes a nice long nap before supper and wakes with a ravenous appetite."

"There is no need to be concerned?"

"Not at this stage," Alice said when he paused in the doorway and searched her face. "I am not saying there won't be any bumps in the road—good days and bad days—but considering what we have witnessed today, I am quietly confident we are on the _right_ road. Peter's small for his age, though if his appetite and digestion continue to improve, my guess is he won't take long to catch up."

"I can't say when I have heard better news." Mr Whitlock smiled, a genuine expression of joy and relief that lit up his already handsome face from within. It took years off his countenance, and Alice's breath caught in her throat. Ignoring the voice of her conscience warning her she was behaving no better than a giddy debutante, she felt an answering smile curve her own lips. To make matters worse, a warm glow took up residence in the vicinity of her heart.

 **~D &D~**

 **Oh, the feels! *holds hand to heart and presses lips firmly together***

 **I'm so glad you have (mostly) forgiven Alice for her prickly behaviour in Passion and Propriety. There was a lot going on beneath the surface.**

 **I love hearing your thoughts.** **I also love a fiercely protective father almost overcome with emotion. Sigh...**

 **xx Elise**


	9. Lucky

**Hello everyone. Thanks for the well wishes for my granddaughter. She is on the mend. Thank you, also, to the lovely readers who have bought ebooks of the original version of Duty and Desire and left reviews on Amazon. Mwah!**

 **This is a nice long chapter. I hope you can savour it with a nice cup of your favourite beverage...or glass. ;)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 8**

 **Lucky**

Jasper stared into the fire, his arms akimbo and long legs stretched out in front of the worn but comfortable chair that had quickly become his favourite. He had yet to take a sip of his brandy, but a bone-deep lassitude had spread through his muscles. Having been tense for so long, he had forgotten what it felt like to be truly relaxed. Even in sleep, his fears manifested themselves in unwinnable battles against invisible foe. Savouring the unaccustomed sensation of peace, he contemplated its cause.

Peter was on the mend.

A simple phrase, but as far as Jasper was concerned, it should have been accompanied by a choir of angels singing the "Hallelujah Chorus." Maybe it was, he mused with a smile. After years of pleading to a God he had feared indifferent to his plight, his prayers had been answered in the guise of Miss Brandon. An unlikely angel, she looked more like a fae creature than one who channelled divinity, but what else would one call a bringer of miracles? With her dark locks and flashing green eyes, he had been captivated from the first moment he saw her. Unfortunately, that hadn't stopped him from treating her abominably when he had discovered her vocation.

Prejudice was a damnable thing, blinding one's heart and mind to the bleeding obvious. There was nothing unholy about Miss Brandon or her practices—her knowledge and skills were exemplary. She could be prickly, but it was hardly surprising considering his harsh rejection of her original offer of assistance. In hindsight, she was far more forgiving than he deserved.

He owed her a great deal, the words of apology and thanks he had already spoken not nearly enough. To add insult to the injury he had previously inflicted on the young herbalist, he _still_ hadn't recompensed her for her trouble, forced to wait another few days for his stipend to be deposited in his bank account by Edward's secretary, Mr Longbottom. He should have swallowed his pride and asked for an advance, but he was loath to do anything that evoked comparison with his predecessor, the corrupt and self-serving Mr Crowley. Jasper never would have made the request for the carriage, horses, driver, and stable boy if the arrangement were not of significantly more benefit to Miss Brandon than himself.

A satisfied sigh escaped his lips when he considered how little fuss she had raised over his meddling. He had expected a lambasting at the very least, possibly even outright refusal of the plan since he was the one to instigate it. But she had been quite gracious, even expressing gratitude, not that his attempt to make her life a little easier in any way redressed the debt he owed. He would have preferred to be the one funding the service, but that wasn't an option. Even though he would no longer be spending the majority of his income on a parade of physicians—Miss Brandon charged a fraction in comparison—his straits were still verging on dire.

Jasper's chest rose and fell with another sigh, this one of despondency. His mother's latest pleading letter sat unanswered on his desk. The gambling habit of his brother Harold, the latest Baron Whitlock, was so far out of hand it was bordering on criminal, but there was little Jasper could do about it. It was a pity the Whitlock Estate hadn't been entailed, but the title of baron was ascribed to the man and not any particular location. The country manor, farmlands, and sundry properties had all already been sold to feed Harold's ravenous appetite for debauchery.

Jasper had done what he could to keep his mother living in the style to which she was determined to remain accustomed, but the charade couldn't be maintained for much longer. The Whitlocks' London residence, which had already been reduced to a shoestring staff, was now at risk. The situation might have been salvageable if his younger sister, Penelope, had been able to make the magnificent alliance his mother dreamed of, but her years were advancing, and the likelihood of marriage seemed slim with the poor girl devoid of both dowry and good health.

Maybe he should ask if Penny could come and stay with him for a while. Never deathly ill like Peter—or like Jasper's eldest brother, Raymond, the heir who hadn't lived to inherit—she had nonetheless been a sickly child and had failed to flourish as a young woman. The country air would do her good and, more significantly, Miss Brandon might discern a reason for Penny's less-than-robust constitution. Who knew? Maybe the Oriental diet would benefit her the way it was helping Peter . . . that's if he could convince his mother to allow Penny to try it.

At least with his father dead these past three years, Jasper didn't have to worry about provoking his hatred of all things "unscientific," as he would have wrongly deemed Miss Brandon' methods. In the past, his mother had echoed whatever her husband espoused in a vain attempt to keep the peace. Thankfully her opinions, now she dared express them, seemed generally less extreme. Still, subtle manoeuvring would be required, as she had not yet forgiven Jasper for failing to live up to expectations. Her youngest son was supposed to be distinguishing himself in the military, not managing another man's estate. That his labours also provided for her and his sister was a reality she tended to overlook. While she said she missed her grandson terribly, she had rejected Jasper's invitations to visit, the thought of staying in an estate manager's residence enough to temper her familial longing. Although, at the rate things were going, he imagined there would come a time when she would have little choice in the matter.

His sister was a good sort, and he hated to think of her life wasting away with more days spent abed than up and about. The more he considered it, the more he was convinced that consulting Miss Brandon on Penny's behalf was an excellent idea. She might insist her methods were based on a combination of scientific deduction and common sense, but there was no denying she was a miracle worker. She was also a beautiful woman whose mere presence set his heart racing and his thoughts heading in directions they had no right to explore.

After coming close to tears at the sight of his son frolicking in the garden like any other lad his age, Jasper had been shocked to discover he had taken hold of Miss Brandon' hand. Her delicate fingers entwined with his had imparted comfort and felt like they belonged, as if his large hand and her smaller one were made to fit together. The errant thought had triggered questions regarding how else they might be compatible, physically and otherwise, thoughts he had ruthlessly forced aside.

Mellowed by the events of the day and the brandy now warming his belly, he allowed himself the indulgence. Rather than expressing outrage at his intimate touch, her lovely green eyes had looked up at him with understanding. If she would have welcomed the idea, and if he had been in any position to act upon it, he would have considered courting Miss Brandon.

But she wouldn't, he wasn't, and it was just as well.

It didn't require a military strategist to deduce the result of such an overture. Miss Brandon was motivated by compassion, not affection, and certainly not attraction. Not for him—a man she had publicly professed to being unable to stand. She didn't even like his beard. If he were to admit he found her appealing, she would be appalled. And Napoleon's army had nothing on the village of Hartley's resident herbalist when her dander was raised.

An image formed in his mind of Miss Brandon in fine fettle, her chin tilted, colour high, and tongue lashing him into submission. Would she bring that same passion if she were to indulge in an intimate relationship?

A bolt of desire arrowed straight for Jasper's loins, and he moved restlessly in his seat. He had no right to think of Miss Brandon in such a way. She was a lady, of sorts, not the village doxy. In his defence, he _had_ been considering her in terms of matrimony not dalliance, but that only marginally excused his salacious imaginings.

It was a pity that marriage was out of the question, but he couldn't afford a wife, not unless she came with a sizeable dowry and her own estate. Most gentlemen in his position would be pursuing just such a female, but Jasper hadn't given a thought to the possibility of remarriage . . . until now. And it wasn't some unnamed heiress motivating his renewed interest but the equally penniless, and wholly unsuitable, Miss Brandon.

Jasper laughed, concluding it must be testament to his optimistic mood that he was contemplating rejoining an institution that had brought him nothing but misery. That and the fact Miss Brandon was as dissimilar to Maria as chalk was to cheese. Miss Brandon was mature and determined, and she blatantly refused to conform to rules she considered inappropriate. There was a time, quite recently in fact, when Jasper would have tut-tutted over her unconventional views, but he was beginning to see them in a new light and was perceiving new benefits.

He couldn't imagine Miss Brandon submitting to the rigid restrictions regarding intimate relations that were imposed on the females of their class, unlike his departed young wife. Poor Maria had been terrified, of him, of what was expected of her, and their relationship was doomed before it even began. Jasper had assumed all society marriages were as miserably encumbered, but Edward's experience proved otherwise. The man was blessed, the credit almost entirely due to his delightful wife's generous and affectionate nature.

From the little Edward had disclosed, Jasper had deduced that Isabella had refused to succumb to society's dictates and deny her feelings for her husband. Nor had she feigned fear, choosing rather to embrace matrimony, and physical intimacy, with gusto. Isabella and Miss Brandon possessed a similar propensity for independent thought, and Jasper couldn't help wondering if they shared any other characteristics. Would she make the same sort of wife as Isabella, one a man of his station could typically only dream about?

Shaking his head at his folly, Jasper reminded himself that Miss Brandon wasn't interested in marriage, and if she were, she wouldn't choose him.

Deciding to leave writing to his mother until the morrow, Jasper rose and went to look in on Peter. As predicted, he had slept soundly that afternoon, eaten more for his supper than he used to manage in a week, grumbled about requiring a wash, insisted his father read him story after story before bed, and then mutinously resisted settling down for the night. The change in behaviour from his lethargy-induced compliance was marked, but Jasper was far from dismayed. In fact, he was overjoyed to discover his son in possession of such spirit. He would have to be careful not to spoil the boy, but a little pampering wouldn't do him any harm. He just hoped the "good days and bad days" Miss Brandon predicted would be weighted towards the former.

Tucking the blankets around his son's small but precious form, Jasper said a prayer of thanksgiving for one of the better days he could ever recall. Even the time spent indulging in fantasy, however futile, had been pleasant, as he couldn't remember the last time he had thought longingly of a lady.

~D&D~

"That's it, Peter. You are doing splendidly."

The boy beamed at his father's praise and repeated the exercise, bowing from the waist and repeating the lines he had been fed. "How do you do, Miss Brandon? It is lovely to see you."

"Quite the young gentleman." Jasper tousled his son's blond locks, his brow quizzing when Peter's smile was replaced by a troubled look.

"Does this mean I can't give Miss Brandon a hug when she comes to see me? I like hugging her. She's soft and smells nice. I don't think she minds."

"Neither do I," Jasper murmured, recalling his reaction when Miss Brandon had mentioned a paucity of physical contact leading to her receptiveness to being embraced . . . by his son, at any rate. If he had thought he was included in the invitation, he would have obliged her then and there. "How about we compromise?"

Peter's brow quirked, much as Jasper's had earlier, and he blinked to see his own expression mirrored in his son's face.

"When Miss Brandon arrives, you can show her how much of a gentleman you have become by greeting her properly. _Then_ you can ask her if she would like a hug. I have a feeling she will say yes," Jasper said. "Lucky boy," he added under his breath.

"Hooray!" Peter jumped up and down, and Jasper snatched him up and swung him around in the air before enjoying a hug of his own.

Three days had passed since Miss Brandon's last visit, and Peter was yet to have a "bad day." He tired easily, and his stomach still cramped on occasion, but his appetite was good, and his ears hadn't pained him during the night. Even the dark rings beneath his eyes had started to fade. Jasper's hopes were high that Peter's recovery would be ongoing, his newfound optimism for the future putting a bounce in his step he had not felt since _he_ was a boy . . . but only when his father wasn't around to see and judge.

His father never would have approved of Jasper's giving up a promising military career to care for his motherless son, and he certainly wouldn't have understood his determination to bond with the boy. Even with Peter's limitations, Jasper had spent more time with his son in the previous two years than his father had with him in twenty. He had seen little more of his mother, but as was standard for children of their class, he and his siblings had been raised by nursemaids, then tutors, before the boys were sent away to school.

It was a few years off yet, but Jasper couldn't help feeling relieved he wouldn't be able to afford to send Peter away. Problem was, he wouldn't be able to afford a tutor either. There was always the village school that Edward was soon to commission, though Jasper could just imagine how his mother would react to the news. A grandson of hers being educated alongside commoners? She would think the world was coming to an end.

Jasper grinned. Before Miss Brandon's intervention, he had been living in dread of losing his son. Fretting over the boy's future education was a welcome dilemma.

"Why are you smiling, Papa?" Peter asked as Jasper straightened the collar of his son's jacket.

"Just happy."

"Is that because Miss Brandon is coming? I can't wait to see her. Can you? I like her a lot. Do you like her, Papa?"

"Ah, yes. Of course."

"I think she likes you, too." The boy's brows furrowed while Jasper's rose in alarm. "I _know_ she likes me."

"Of course, she likes you. You're a wonderful lad." Jasper took a moment to smooth his son's hair while Peter squirmed. He hoped the boy wasn't getting any odd ideas, though he could hardly blame him for being enamoured of the lovely healer.

Like father, like son.

The thought brought Jasper up short. Attraction was one thing and entirely understandable. Anything more was foolhardy in the extreme.

"Miss Brandon has arrived," Mrs Carter called from down the hallway, and Jasper took a fortifying breath.

"Remember what we practised?" He took hold of Peter's hand, quietly hoping the boy wouldn't say anything inappropriate.

Peter nodded, his smile lighting up his face as he all but bounced his way down the hall. Spying Miss Brandon waiting just inside the parlour door, he tugged free of Jasper's hand and ran ahead, coming to a sudden halt in front of her. Standing ramrod straight, he glanced over his shoulder to Jasper, receiving a nod for reassurance, before turning to face forward once more.

"How do you do, Miss Brandon?" Peter's carefully enunciated words were accompanied by a stiff bow. "It is lovely to see you. Can I please have a hug?"

Miss Brandon' eyes widened, and Jasper rubbed his brow. He opened his mouth, intent on apologising for his son's forward manner, but Miss Brandon silenced him with a slight shake of her head.

"It is lovely to see you also, Master Whitlock, and you may certainly have a hug." She crouched down with open arms, and Peter threw himself into them, causing her to teeter backwards.

"Peter!" Jasper rushed forward and placed a hand on Miss Brandon's shoulder to steady her. "You must be gentle with a lady."

Peter pulled back and frowned at his father. "I thought Miss Brandon was a 'miss' not a 'lady.' "

"She is both." Jasper gave her an apologetic look.

"But you're not a missus, are you, Miss Brandon, 'cos you're not married? Right? Papa's not married either, but he's a mister not a master. It's confusing."

"Yes, I imagine it must be."

Miss Brandon appeared to be struggling to keep a straight face, which was better than her being annoyed, Jasper supposed.

"All right, Peter, that's enough."

Confident Miss Brandon had regained her balance, he let go of her shoulder and offered her his hand. She hesitated, but only for a moment, then allowed him to assist her to stand once Peter had disentangled himself from around her middle.

"I am dreadfully sorry," Jasper said to his guest before addressing Peter once more. "You must be more careful, as you almost knocked Miss Brandon over."

"But she likes my hugs, and she gives really good ones back—almost as good as yours, Papa. You should try one. I am sure Miss Brandon wouldn't mind."

"Peter!" It appeared teaching his son how to behave in polite company was going to be a more protracted exercise than he had first thought. "You mustn't say such things."

"But it's true. You said I was a lucky boy for being able to hug Miss Brandon. I heard you."

Jasper closed his eyes for a moment and silently prayed for the ground to open up and swallow him. He would have to be more careful about what he said around the boy. With his face aflame and not a single cogent thought coming to his rescue, he looked everywhere but at Miss Brandon.

"Maybe another time," she murmured, and Jasper's gaze shot to her face. To his amazement, she winked at him before taking hold of Peter's hand and leading him to the settee. While she gave Peter a quick examination, he pondered her words.

She couldn't have meant them the way they had sounded, could she? That would mean she _wanted_ him to embrace her, which was about as likely as Mrs Burredge's goats sprouting wings and taking to the skies above Forkton.

"Miss Brandon wants to see the pixie houses I found at the bottom of the garden. Can I take her to see them, Papa?"

While glad of the distraction, Jasper wasn't sure what Peter meant and he didn't want to impose on their guest. "Only if Miss Brandon isn't too busy."

"Not at all." She stood and took Peter's hand. "I am finished for the day, and my neighbour's daughter, Marjory, is watching my aunt, so my time is my own. You'll join us for a frolic in the garden?"

"Yes, Papa. It will be fun," Peter pleaded.

"Ah . . ."

Miss Brandon's use of the word "frolic" had cleared Jasper's mind of reasonable thought, and he could only manage the one syllable.

"Come along, Mr Whitlock. We have pixie houses to see." Miss Brandon arched one of her dark, swooping brows as Peter led her towards the door.

It was apparently Jasper's day to be left floundering, but he caught up with a few long strides and captured Peter's other hand. The hallway wasn't quite wide enough for the three of them, but rather than let go, Peter pulled the two adults close enough that their shoulders bumped together while squeezing himself in the small gap between.

"This is almost like getting two hugs at once." He crossed their arms in front of him, and Jasper sighed. A glance Miss Brandon's way rewarded him with the sight of her lip curled in a smirk.

"I do apologise . . . again," he said once Peter had released them and taken off at a run towards the bottom of the garden.

"There's no need." She waved a hand in dismissal. "Your son is a delightful young man."

"And far more boisterous than he used to be, thanks to you. Which is a _good_ thing," Jasper added, when he realised his words could be taken as an insult. "The change is remarkable. He was so subdued before, sleeping all the time. He is like a different child, one I am just getting to know."

"He is very open in expressing affection. Does he take after you in that regard?"

Jasper's mouth dropped open. It was obvious from her tone that Miss Brandon was goading him, but for the second time in almost as many minutes, he was rendered speechless. Whereas in the drawing room his mind had gone frustratingly blank, this time it filled with an array of images. Unfortunately, none were suitable for contemplation in a public setting with a lady present—the very lady that featured in his thoughts.

Miss Brandon looked up at him with a sparkle in her eyes. "Well? Did you enjoy being embraced, or were you one to shy away from physical contact?"

"When I was a boy?"

"Whatever else would I have meant?" Miss Brandon widened her eyes, as if daring him to challenge her. "Do keep up, Mr Whitlock."

Giving his head a good shake, Jasper attempted to order his thoughts. He wasn't used to suffering discombobulation and found it a far-from-pleasant sensation.

"Did I enjoy physical affection when I was a boy?" He repeated Miss Brandon's question in hopes a few extra seconds would give him the time needed to form a reasoned reply. They didn't. "I have no idea," he eventually admitted.

"Your memories are addled? How old are you?"

Huffing, he sent her a pained look. "I am nine and twenty, and my memory is in perfect working order. The reason I have no idea is that I don't think I was ever given the opportunity to find out. Our nursemaid was an old curmudgeon who would have boxed our ears for taking such liberties, and my parents kept a suitably reserved distance. I played a lot of rough-and-tumble games with my brothers—well, Harold at any rate. Raymond was too poorly. But I am not sure if that counts. I do recall holding my younger sister's hand on occasion when she ventured out to play. Her balance wasn't good, and Harold liked to sneak up and trip her over."

"What a charmer." Miss Brandon pursed her lips.

Jasper didn't disagree, though the word that came to mind when he thought of his brother was much harsher. Harold was an ass. Always had been and, apparently, always would be.

"Do you plan on being 'suitably reserved' with Peter?"

She eyed Jasper curiously, and he let out a bark of laughter.

"Good God, no," he said just as Peter came running and threw himself into Jasper's arms. Lifting him high in the air, he swung his giggling son around in a circle before settling him on his hip. The boy only allowed it for a moment, before insisting on being let down so he could show them the 'pixie houses' he had been chattering about.

"Stop talking and come and look," Peter ordered, and Jasper wondered whether he should scold the boy for being disrespectful. But Miss Brandon didn't seem offended, and they had promised to follow, so he let it go.

Halfway down the garden, she surprised him with a question. "You're not worried about what people will think? That society might judge you for being affectionate with Peter?"

"Let them." He shrugged. "I have already lost their good opinion for surrendering my commission. The ones who supported my decision to come home and take care of my son won't care—in fact, I dare say they shall approve. Can you picture Edward being cold or reserved with the twins when they are older?"

Miss Brandon smiled and shook her head, but further conversation was halted when they reached the spot where Peter was crouched, pointing excitedly to a circle of dome-topped mushrooms.

"Look, pixie houses!"

~D&D~

Jasper couldn't recall spending a more pleasant hour with a lady, and he was torn between wanting to extend her visit and rushing her out the door. If he had thought he was in trouble after Miss Brandon's last visit, it was nothing to the feelings stirring within him now. She was so good with Peter, seeming not to mind his childish prattle and endless questions. It felt vaguely disloyal, but he couldn't imagine Maria showing a fraction of the patience. In fact, he didn't know many ladies, other than the Swan sisters, who would condone Peter's whimsical notions about fungi being the dwelling place of mythical creatures. Rather than insist on correcting the boy's misconception, Miss Brandon had taken a seat on the grass and joined in with his play, encouraging Jasper to do likewise.

Watching her listen intently to his son's excited chatter, her dark hair contrasting with Peter's pale locks, Jasper had sensed a bond forming, one that possessed _three_ strands. It was obvious his son was well on the way to becoming smitten with the village herbalist, and Jasper feared Peter wasn't the only male member of the Whitlock clan to feel that way.

"You'll stay for afternoon tea?" he heard himself ask when they had returned to the parlour, his wayward mouth making the decision for him.

"Please, Miss Brandon?" Peter added. "That would make this the best day ever!"

Despite his misgivings, Jasper was inclined to agree. While unlikely to be of the same opinion, Miss Brandon nevertheless kindly agreed to stay a little longer. It was only once they were seated that Jasper considered what might be on offer from the kitchen and second-guessed the invitation.

"Ah . . . I hope you like custard." He spread his hands in apology.

"For afternoon tea?"

"Yes, well, Mrs Carter hasn't had any luck making scones or biscuits out of rice flour. They tend to crumble. Goat's milk custard takes a bit of getting used to, but it's not too bad, and the stewed fruit is tasty."

Cocking her head to the side, Miss Brandon studied him for a moment. "Are you following the same diet as Peter?"

"Of course." He shrugged. "I can't very well ask Mrs Carter to cook two different menus, as she is busy enough. Besides, it wouldn't be fair if I ate bread and cakes in front of him," he added in a whisper, not that Peter seemed overly concerned about the foods he was no longer being served. Other than toast. He had asked for toast and honey a few times, which was partly why Jasper was choosing to go without.

"You dine together?" Miss Brandon asked, clearly bemused.

"As often as possible, especially now that Peter is up and about and getting into mischief."

A child of his age wasn't normally allowed free range of the household, but estate managers were members of the working class, and the residence didn't possess a nursery. Mrs Carter did her best, but now that Peter was no longer bedridden, it was necessary for Jasper to supervise him whenever possible. Not that he minded. He liked the boy's company, and a part of him was glad he couldn't afford a tutor. Although he would have to employ extra staff as soon as possible lest his beleaguered housekeeper hand in her notice.

Miss Brandon continued to study Jasper with an intensity that reminded him of Peter watching insects in the garden. He didn't detect any censure, but he felt his hackles rising nonetheless.

"You disapprove of my parenting?" He raised his chin in a defensive gesture.

Miss Brandon slowly shook her head. "Not at all. I believe I have underestimated you, Mr Whitlock. You are an exceptional father, and Peter is lucky to have you."

It was high praise indeed, especially considering the source.

The thought reminded Jasper of the veritable torture he had put Peter through, and a shudder ran through him. If it wasn't for Miss Brandon's intervention, his son might not have lived long enough for Jasper to discover just how wonderful it was to be a father.

"I count myself as the lucky one, Miss Brandon." Tucking his now-sleepy son closer to his side, a lump formed in Jasper's throat. He swallowed around it, saved from having to say more by the arrival of their afternoon tea . . . or pudding, as it were.

 **~D &D~**

 **Satisfied sigh... That was a lovely long chapter if I do say so myself. Worth a review?**

 **I had a dream last night that all 1000 plus readers decided to review the same chapter, rather than 'just' the 70 or so who regularly do so. I say 'just', because you guys are wonderful, and I appreciate each and every comment or smiley face. I also understand that some of you are unable to review for a variety of reasons...but it's nice to dream. ;)**

 **xx Elise**


	10. Awareness

**Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews ... from my faithful '5 percenters' (you guys rock), and from the more timid readers who popped up to say 'Hi!' this chapter. It was a real treat. :)**

 **Another treat for me, and the reason I'm posting later than usual, is that my lovely hubby surprised me with an impromptu 'date night' tonight. We watched the movie, Wonder, and I had _all_ the feels. Such a lovely, heart-warming movie!**

 **xxx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 9**

 **Awareness**

Alice swaddled the freshly cleaned newborn and placed her in her mother's arms. "She seems fine, Mrs Finlay, but I am worried about your colour. You must promise me you'll rest and eat well. I shall bring you a tonic, but you need to eat red meat to build up your blood."

The mother looked away, too weary to focus on the babe in her arms. With a sigh, Alice turned to the Finlays' eldest daughter, but she, too, averted her gaze. The father and older brother worked in the mines. As breadwinners, they took priority, the mother, daughters, and younger sons lucky to taste the juices of what little meat the family could afford. Their diet likely consisted of bread and drippings, and maybe potatoes if they were lucky. Alice doubted they saw many vegetables, as the small garden she had spied outside the tiny cottage was in need of attention. One would have thought Mrs Finlay would have made it a priority, but poverty and misfortune had a way of wearying the hardiest of souls.

Things had improved a great deal in the Masen district since Edward's return and Mr Whitlock's takeover as estate manager. Ensuring safety in the mines was proving difficult, with rarely a month passing without some sort of mishap or another. But land that had lain fallow for years was now being farmed, wages had risen, and local businesses were flourishing as a result. Regardless, there were still families like the Finlays who struggled to get by. Alice suspected Mr Finlay's taste for hard liquor was to blame—that and his refusal to grant his exhausted wife a reprieve from childbearing. With seven children to care for from ten live births and fourteen confinements, the poor woman was worn out. At thirty-four, she was old before her time and, if things didn't change, Alice doubted she would see forty.

After promising to visit again the next day, Alice made her way to the emporium to make sure everything was under control. She and her assistants had spent several days moving the drying herbs, bottles of tinctures, and Alice's decocting equipment from her garden shed and were starting to see customers, as well as the occasional patient in the treating room. Mrs Albert, the eldest and most experienced of the three assistants, agreed to check in on Mrs Finlay later in the day and deliver a bottle of tonic, along with a care package for the new baby. A word to Isabella would see a sizeable food parcel delivered, which should help out in the short term, but the family would require ongoing support.

Even with three assistants, Alice felt she was only scratching the surface of the community's needs. She wanted to discuss her concerns with Isabella and Edward, but they had their hands full with the babes and the running of the district. Perhaps Mr Whitlock would be interested in her ideas for seeing to the general welfare of the locals, and not just their physical health?

A month earlier, Alice never would have considered him a suitable collaborator, but she had been wrong in her assessment of the man. She had thought him aloof and arrogant, but since he had put aside his prejudice of her profession, she had discovered a whole different side to him, one that was quite appealing. Not personally, of course. She looked forward to working with the man for the betterment of the community, nothing more.

Being godparents to Isabella and Edward's twins was a somewhat intimate relationship, she supposed, and she couldn't deny being a little eager to see him again at the christening that afternoon. But that was a good thing. A welcome improvement to their previous antipathy and only because she was keen to hear how Peter was faring.

"Aunt Edith? Are you awake?"

Her aunt's already tiny body seemed to be shrivelling by the day, and Alice tried to swallow around the lump that formed in her throat.

Forcing weary lids open, Edith reached a shaking hand for the glass of water sitting on the bedside table.

"Here, I'll get it." Supporting her aunt's insubstantial weight with one arm, Alice guided the glass to her lips before settling Edith back against the pillow.

"Is it time for the christening?"

"Yes, I am about to head off." Alice stroked a wispy strand of silver hair from her aunt's brow. "I am sorry you're not up to attending. I shall get Isabella to visit with the babies later this week."

Edith waved a bony hand in the air. "Our little cottage is no place for entertaining a viscountess."

Alice huffed, her tone wry but gentle. "This is Isabella we're talking about. She must have dined with us a hundred times and, I can assure you, is no different for her change in station. She keeps asking after you and is eager to show you her babes."

"Truly?" Edith's watery blue eyes brightened. "She's not been puffed up with an abundance of airs and graces?"

"Not in the least." Alice smiled when she thought of the changes the previous year had wrought in her friend. "She is more confident, I'll grant you, but it's a good thing. She is not so deferential, and she has lost that 'put upon' air."

Edith chuckled, her raspy voice making it more of a cackle. "I am glad to 'ear it. That girl turned into a right martyr after her mother became ill. Old before her time, she was."

 _Not anymore,_ Alice mused.

Edward's loving attention had rid Isabella of her dull and somewhat defeated air. Alice thought her own line of work had rendered her unshockable, but the stories Isabella insisted on recounting could bring colour to the dourest old midwife's cheeks, let alone one who was unwed and relatively young. There wasn't much Alice didn't know about the mechanics of procreation, but Isabella's breathless, giggling disclosures about the unexpected joys of marital relations had left her feeling unsettled on occasion.

She was happy for her friend, not envious. Not really. Maybe a little.

Not that she coveted her best friend's husband in any way.

Edward had turned out to be far more handsome than she had first suspected when he had arrived in the village, close to death and looking less than reputable. But his excessive height and dark demeanour weren't to Alice's tastes. She preferred a leaner look and lighter colouring.

Mr Whitlock's blond locks and red-gold beard sprang to mind, not for the first time of late, and she dismissed them with an internal rebuke.

What was the matter with her?

Just because she had discovered the man wasn't a complete boor was no reason to set him up as the epitome of gentlemanly appeal. He wasn't. Nor was any other gentleman, or country farmer, or soldier, or tradesman, or male of any sort. She had eschewed matrimony and had no need for a man. Certainly not Mr Whitlock, other than as a fellow worker in the rehabilitation of the district.

With that reminder fixed to the forefront of her thinking, Alice gave her aunt's hand one last pat. "The service will be starting soon, so I had best be off." She stood and smoothed the skirt of the new dress Isabella had insisted on buying her for the occasion. "Do I look all right?" The light green fabric of the Empire-line gown was the exact shade of Alice's eyes. She looked up from fiddling with the bow that tied just below her breasts to find her aunt eyeing her curiously.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." Her aunt smiled. "I've just never seen ye fuss over yer appearance before. It wouldn't have anything to do with a particular patient ye insist on checking on twice as often as usual? Or should I say 'is father?"

"I have no idea what you mean." Flustered, Alice crossed to the small mirror above the dresser and checked to make sure none of her freshly curled locks were out of place. She wasn't primping. Certainly not for Mr Whitlock's benefit. She just wanted to look nice for the christening. It was an important event, and as godmother to the highest ranked babies in the district, it behoved her to look her best. Mr Whitlock's opinion of her appearance was irrelevant. Just because she had found herself enjoying his company didn't mean anything, nor did her visiting to check on Peter more often than was strictly required.

The poor boy was motherless, not that Alice had any aspirations in that direction. Her interest was purely professional and had nothing to do with the warmth that enveloped her heart whenever the lad's little arms wrapped around her middle. And it certainly didn't have anything to do with the flutterings that unfurled in her stomach at the slightest touch of Mr Whitlock's fingers. Nor had she been affected by the knowledge he was an exemplary father, loving and devoted to the point where he placed his son's needs above his own. The man didn't seem to care what others thought of him, an unheard-of attitude for one of his class.

And to think she had thought him stuffy!

In reality he was quite the opposite and, yes, she had found herself warming to him. Thinking about him at odd times of the day . . . and night. Dreaming of him. Imagining she could feel his fingers stroking her hand . . . or cheek . . . or lips.

Her shoulders drooping, Alice faced her aunt.

"How did you know?"

"That ye've taken a liking to Peter's father?"

Disconsolate but unable to deny her feelings any longer, Alice gave a reluctant nod.

"Well, other than the extra visits, I'd say it was ye mentioning 'im at least five times a day and singing the man's praises like 'e was newly sainted. Coming on the 'eels of ye assuring me 'e was the devil incarnate for 'is abuse of 'is son, it wasn't all that hard to figure out. Love and 'ate are two sides of the same coin, ye know."

Alice stared, appalled. "I'm not in love with the man!"

"I'd say yer well on the way." Edith's expression was sympathetic but unwavering. "I've caught ye sitting and staring into space a few times lately, not to mention peering out the window whenever a 'orse or chaise passes by."

Alice sat down with a thump on the old wooden chair by the bed, her lower lip quivering. She couldn't fall in love. Tumbling head over heels into an abyss of cloying sentiment and impossible expectations was not on her agenda. Although if her aunt was correct, she had already tumbled, limbs flailing and with nothing but a painful landing to look forward to. It explained the disorientation she had been experiencing, the feeling that her senses had somehow been rendered obsolete. She had seen the results of unrequited love and unfulfilled desire in others, and it wasn't pretty. Wallowing in the misery of heartbreak was not an option for one in her position, and she would have to find a way to wrest back control of her wayward emotions before it was too late . . . if it wasn't already.

"How awful." A pained whimper escaped her lips, and Edith patted her hand.

"It doesn't 'ave to be." Edith struggled to pull herself up in the bed, and Alice leaned over to help her, plumping an extra pillow to place behind her head. "I think it's good yer taking an interest in a man."

"You do?"

"Aye. It's about time, if ye ask me. Ye've been 'iding from life for long enough."

"I have not!" Alice crossed her arms. "I have been studying, working, serving the community."

"And not giving a thought to yerself or yer own needs." Edith shook her head, her wrinkled lips pursed together.

"What needs?" Alice stood and began to pace, which wasn't easy considering the limited space available. "You can't be talking marriage, as there's no place in a healer's life for a husband or a family. Have you changed your mind?"

"Maybe." The sadness in Edith's declaration brought Alice to a halt. She had modelled her life upon her aunt's without ever considering if Edith might have regretted her choices.

"You wish you had taken a different path?"

"No, not at all." Edith beckoned Alice to sit beside her on the double bed they shared. "I've 'ad a wonderful life, and 'elped countless people, but it 'as been lonely at times. 'aving yer mother come stay when ye were little, and you yerself these past years, 'as brought me such joy. But a family of my own would 'ave been nice."

"But healers can't marry. The roles of wife and mother are too demanding, too disparate from those of midwife or herbalist."

"Difficult, yes, but not impossible . . . if ye find the right man."

Alice scoffed. She didn't want to hurt her aunt's feelings, but it appeared the old dear had succumbed to an odd, romantic delusion. What gentleman would allow his wife to practise such a demanding profession? She'd had this conversation with Mr Whitlock, and he had made it clear he wouldn't be open to such a radical departure from convention. Not that she blamed him. A man in his situation needed a wife who would be content to stay at home, supervising his household, caring for his son, and bearing him more children. She also suspected he might need one with a dowry, since his financial situation didn't appear to be overly sound.

With surprising strength, Edith grasped Alice's wrist. "Just promise me ye'll think about it, that ye'll be open to the possibility."

"Of marriage?"

"If it's offered, though there are alternative arrangements—more temporary ones."

Edith gave her a knowing look, and Alice's mouth dropped open.

"But that's . . . that's . . ."

"I know it's not proper, but it's my only regret. I 'ad the chance once with a lovely fellow over in Thornton, a merchant. I turned 'im down, but I've often wondered where it might 'ave led. 'e was a good man, kindhearted, and I did care for 'im. I was very set in my ways at the time, but I sometimes wonder if we couldn't 'ave made it work."

"Oh, Auntie, I am sorry." Alice turned her hand to entwine their fingers.

While there was a slim chance a common merchant might have allowed her aunt to continue her profession, there was no way a gentleman would compromise to that degree. As to the other "arrangement," Alice must have misunderstood. Her aunt would never suggest she engage in dalliance.

Feeling as flustered as she had when Isabella had described some of her husband's more adventurous endeavours, Alice made her way down the garden path to the road. She had left Edith in the capable hands of Marjory, as she wouldn't be returning until late.

It wasn't a long walk to the church, and she was surprised to see Mr Whitlock's new carriage coming down the road. When it pulled up in front of her, she was pleased to discover on the tip of her tongue a pithy comment about his lack of stamina combining with an air of pretension—anything to reestablish her equilibrium where he was concerned. She was about to deliver it when Peter popped his head out the window, the reason Mr Whitlock had chosen to use the carriage instantly clear.

"Miss Brandon! Miss Brandon! I'm coming to the chrisuming in Papa's new carriage. Will you come with us? Please?"

"How can I refuse such a lovely offer?" Her smile faded when the carriage door opened, and Mr Whitlock stepped down, no doubt to assist her. Their gazes met, his self-conscious and hers appalled.

He had shaved off his beard.

"What have you done?" She stepped back, her hand rising to clutch at her chest. "Your lovely beard . . . it is gone!"

His eyes widened, and Alice's dismay turned to mortification.

"I mean . . . it is a nice change. You look perfectly acceptable." If anything, with his chiselled jawline on display, he was even more handsome, but Alice had grown rather attached to his facial hair.

"I thought you would approve." A crease appeared between his lowered brows, and he waved a hand in front of his lips. "Get rid of the 'muffling effect.' "

"Oh, that." Alice shook her head at the memory. She hadn't realised he had taken her seriously. "I was just teasing you, well, goading really, which wasn't very nice of me. I am sorry you took it to heart."

Rubbing his jaw, he studied her for a moment. "I could grow it back . . . if you like."

Stunned by his offer, a laugh burst from her lips, overly loud and somewhat hysterical. "Don't be silly. It is not as if _my_ opinion counts for anything. I am just not a fan of change." Unwelcome tears stung her eyes, and she spun to face the cottage.

"Miss Brandon?"

Mr Whitlock's hand came to rest on her arm—a barely there, featherlight caress. There were very few instances when it was appropriate for a gentleman to touch a lady, and this probably wasn't one of them. Alice couldn't bring herself to brush him off, though she feared his touch would be her undoing. Stifling a sob, she only just managed to speak past the lump in her throat.

"I am sorry. I have got a lot going on at the moment, and I'm . . . I'm a tad emotional."

"Your aunt?" he asked, his voice gentle with compassion.

She nodded and turned to face him, wondering what he would think if she requested a hug. Allowing him to wrap his arms around her would be the height of foolishness, but a part of her wanted the comfort so badly she was tempted to throw caution to the wind.

Peter, who had been watching them wide-eyed from the open door of the carriage, climbed down and placed his hand on her other arm. "Are you all right, Miss Brandon?" he asked, and she blinked away the tears that blurred her vision.

"Yes, thank you, Peter. I am just worried about my aunt." It wasn't a lie, and she couldn't very well admit to what had triggered her distress—the realisation that she had, indeed, fallen for his father.

What else could explain her visceral reaction to his changing his appearance or, more significantly, the elation that had coursed through her when he had virtually admitted he had done it for her? If there were the slightest possibility that anything good could come from this attraction, these intense and heartfelt emotions that threatened to overwhelm her whenever he was near, she would have rejoiced in his potential reciprocation. But nothing could come of it. Nothing good. The only thing in store for her was a painful and cushionless landing.

"Is someone staying with her in your absence?" Mr Whitlock asked, and it took Alice a moment to comprehend his meaning.

"My aunt? Oh, certainly. My neighbour's daughter is watching her."

"Then why are you sad?" Peter asked, his face drawn in a solemn frown. "Papa said your aunt is very old. Is she going to die?"

"Peter!"

Mr Whitlock sent her an apologetic glance, but she waved him off. Crouching down, she addressed Peter directly. "Yes, I am afraid she is, but I hope not for a while."

"Papa was sad 'cos the doctor said I was going to die. But I am better now. Maybe you could give your aunt some medicine like you gave me so that she won't die. It doesn't taste very nice, but you could give her a lolly afterwards."

Tears from a different source welled in Alice's eyes, and she hid them by pulling Peter into her arms. Holding him tight, she relished the feel of his little body pressed to hers while trying not to be affected by Mr Whitlock's hand patting her shoulder.

 **~D &D~**

 **Oh gosh, it seems like it is a night (or morning) for 'feels'.**

 **Thank you so much for your continued support. I'm working on the second half of the outtake of Isabella's and Edward's first night 'together' after their babies were born. Hopefully, I'll have it up tomorrow.**

 **Come join me at Elise de Sallier's Stories on Facebook. I've a lot going on!**

 **xx Elise**


	11. Disappointment

**Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the love you are showing this story! For anyone who is also reading Viral Sensation (which I have decided to rename Gone Viral), I posted Chapter 5 this morning - in case you didn't receive the notification.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 10**

 **Disappointment**

Refusing to give in to the temptation to stare at Mr Whitlock, Alice studied the familiar scenery outside the carriage as they travelled through the village. Winter was almost upon them, but they had been blessed with a cool but dry afternoon, the weak autumn sunlight bathing Forkton in a golden glow. While glancing over at Peter, her gaze skimmed over his father's form despite the overwhelming urge to linger. Mr Whitlock had insisted she take the main seat, so he sat across from her on the less-comfortable, rear-facing bench. The position left mere inches between their legs. If the carriage were to hit a bump, their knees might accidentally touch. Her stomach tightened at the thought, which was ridiculous. She wasn't a giddy girl, swept up by her first experience of attraction. She was a grown woman and should know better than to be thinking such things.

"Are you all right, Miss Brandon?"

At Mr Whitlock's query, Alice managed a small smile. "Yes, of course."

"Is Peter bothering you with his fidgeting? I can move him to sit next to me if you would prefer."

"No, he's no trouble, and it is only a short trip."

When Peter had asked to sit beside her, she had readily agreed. Now that he had her attention, he chattered away, a welcome distraction. Focusing on answering his many questions, her heart warmed at his enthusiasm for the outing, but it was his father's presence that caused it to beat faster than normal.

Acknowledging to her aunt, and herself, her feelings for Mr Whitlock had only confirmed how inappropriate they were. But that didn't stop her traitorous body from reacting to his nearness. It might have been easier to resist the attraction if he wasn't so infernally handsome, with or without his beard. She particularly approved of the way he held himself with military precision, and his blue eyes were positively captivating. Even when they were at constant odds, she had been aware of his physical appeal. What lady wouldn't be? Isabella, who was utterly besotted with Edward, had made note of Mr Whitlock's handsomeness on several occasions, and the district's unwed maidens made quite a spectacle of themselves whenever he was present, trying to secure his attention. Believing him to be of poor character had given Alice a degree of immunity, but her defences had crumbled upon discovering Mr Whitlock's disapproving manner hid a surprisingly compassionate soul. Combined with his doting parental concern, the man was nigh on irresistible.

But resist she must.

The carriage pulled up in front of the church, and Alice steeled herself for what was to come. A variety of deciduous trees lined the path to the portico, their leaves holding on for the occasion and creating a canopy of red and gold. It was a lovely sight, framing the refurbished, redbrick church with its proud, new steeple. But the crowd milling outside was far from small, and all eyes were on the latest arrivals.

"Are you sure you're feeling up to this?" Mr Whitlock leaned forward, his hand hovering near, but not quite touching, her arm. "I could explain to Isabella and Edward about your aunt . . . ask them to postpone the christening?"

"That is kind of you, Mr Whitlock, but not necessary. I would hate to be responsible for delaying the christening."

"I don't want a delay. I want to see the babies!" Peter bounced in his seat, and his father urged him to be patient.

"I hope I haven't made a mistake bringing him along," he murmured while assisting Alice from the carriage. "I have been working on his manners, but they have not been put to the test in public before."

Mr Whitlock's rueful smile and willingness to share his worries, as if she was a confidante, a friend, was testament to how far their relationship had come. It was also dangerous, alluding to an intimacy between them she dared not encourage. Certainly not while they had an audience.

"I am sure he will be fine," she said, averting her gaze.

Noting how closely they were being watched, she considered going on ahead. But it would be rude to abandon them, so she waited for Mr Whitlock to lift Peter down from the carriage. The boy caught hold of his father's hand and then Alice's, and they walked down the path to the church with Peter linking them together . . . like a family.

Alice thought her days of feeling self-conscious were behind her. Her position in the community, while unusual, was secure, and she no longer feared rejection from those stationed above her or below. It had been years since her personal business had been fodder for the local gossips, but now all eyes were upon her.

When Lady Westcott, one of Forktons's most dour matrons, raised a supercilious brow, Alice's heart sank. She was tempted to pull away from Peter's hand and force a separation, but she didn't want to dampen his delight over being able to attend the christening. Steeling herself to appear unaffected by whatever snide comments were directed her way, she was surprised when the greetings that accompanied the stares were warm, many including praise for Peter's recovery. It wasn't unusual for Reginald and Cynthia Brandon, her half siblings, to offer a greeting, but when Lady Brandon, her erstwhile stepmother, expressed her approval, Alice tried not to show surprise. She kept forgetting the impact recent events had wrought.

When Isabella and Edward had wed, Alice had found herself on first-name basis with the highest ranked and by far most powerful couple in the district. Their friendship provided her protection of sorts. Also, winter was coming, and Lady Brandon hadn't found anything to relieve her aching joints as effectively as Alice's herbal unguent.

Still, Alice would need to make it clear her relationship to the Whitlocks was purely professional, not to mention keep the secret desires of her foolish heart well hidden.

When they reached the portico, the Reverend Swan greeted Mr Whitlock and welcomed Peter, it being his first time to attend any sort of church service. Then he turned to Alice.

"Welcome, Miss Brandon. It is always lovely to see you in church, whatever the reason."

Alice blushed at the reminder she was a less-than-faithful attendee, but before she could make a defence, her profession keeping her justifiably busy, Reverend Swan smiled.

"There have been a lot of prayers sent up on this lad's behalf." He gave Peter's towhead a pat. "And I believe the good Lord used you to answer them. You are a blessing to the community."

"She certainly is." Mr Whitlock pulled his son closer to his side while looking to Alice. "I have apologised to Miss Brandon, but I would like to publicly say how sorry I am for doubting her abilities. As far as I am concerned, she is a miracle worker."

Alice pressed her lips together. What hope did she have of keeping a suitable, emotional distance from the man if he insisted on saying such things?

"That is very kind of you, Mr Whitlock." She released Peter's hand and took a step back. "Now if you will excuse me . . ."

"Just a moment, Miss Brandon," the vicar called, and his ensuing questions regarding her aunt's health kept her rooted in place when all she wanted was to flee. Fearing another embarrassing loss of control, she kept her answers brief, assuring Reverend Swan she would give Edith his best wishes.

"I shall be by to visit her early in the week," he promised while Alice backed away down the aisle. She'd had all she could take and was determined to put some distance between herself and Mr Whitlock. Peter, too. Regardless of the morning's revelations, and the almost tangible connection she felt to both father and son, nothing could come of it. Nothing. And the last thing she wanted was for the ludicrous idea to be planted in the minds of any curious onlookers.

"Rosalie. Tanya." Alice greeted Isabella's sisters with a harried smile. She went to take her place beside them in the second row, but Rosalie put out a hand to stop her.

"You're to sit in the front pew with Mr Whitlock, and Isabella and Edward when they arrive. They should be here any minute," Tanya said, craning her neck to look down the aisle.

"No, I think it is best if I sit back here with you. Mr Whitlock has his son with him, and we shan't all fit, not with the babies."

"Actually," Mr Whitlock said with a nod to Tanya as he came to stand beside Alice, "I was going to ask if you would mind watching Peter for me, Miss Swan." Father and son bowed in unison, the effect quite adorable. The Swan sisters' soft smiles confirmed they shared Alice's opinion.

"Hello, Miss Tanya!" Peter beamed at the pretty blond girl, and Alice felt an uncomfortable twisting sensation in her belly. Jealousy? It was even worse than she had thought. She had no claim to Mr Whitlock _or_ his son, and certainly no right to act in a possessive manner. Yet all she wanted to do was stake her claim by linking her arm with Mr Whitlock and embracing Peter.

Oblivious to Alice's struggle, Tanya patted the seat beside her. "Of course, Peter can sit with me," she said, and he scrambled up onto the pew. "I am just glad he is well enough to attend the christening."

"Papa says I'm getting better every day, but you can still come visit me and give me lollies if you want," Peter said hopefully, and Mr Whitlock made a snorting sound. "Mrs Carter was supposed to come with us," Peter continued. "She was going to sit with me and make sure I b'have myself, but her niece, who lives all the way over in Thornlie, is having her baby. Mrs Carter was real upset 'cos the baby's early. Did I come early, Papa? Were you upset? Where do babies come from?"

"Ah . . ."

Alice couldn't deny feeling gratified when Mr Whitlock looked to her for assistance.

"I am sure your father was very happy when you arrived, Peter, but how about we talk about where babies come from another time?" she said. Mr Whitlock's expression changed to one of extreme relief, and she hid her bemusement behind a firm tone. "You will need to be good for Miss Swan and sit quietly during the christening. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes, ma'am." Peter snapped his lips closed and covered them with his hand. Talking through a tiny gap in his fingers, he mumbled, "But I can talk again when it's over, right? I can say hello to the babies and tell them about my toy soldiers and the pixie houses in the bottom of my garden and my pet lizard? Did I tell you I've got a pet lizard, Miss Brandon? His name is Laurence. You'll come and see him, won't you? I told him all about you, and he wants to meet you, but he doesn't want any medicine. You won't give him any medicine will you, 'cos he's not sick. He's a healthy lizard. Like me. I'm a healthy boy, so I don't need medicine anymore either. Do I, Miss Brandon?"

It was Alice's turn to be at a loss for words, but when she looked to Mr Whitlock, he hung his head.

"What was I thinking?" he muttered.

"Oh, don't worry." Rosalie gestured for them to take their seats in front. "We'll keep him quiet during the service. He is just making up for lost time, aren't you, Peter?"

"I haven't lost any time," Peter said, looking from one adult to another, a frown crinkling his brow. "Papa let me play with the watch my grandfather gave him—that's his father, like Papa is my father. I don't have a mama, 'cos she died—but I gave the watch back, didn't I, Papa?"

"Yes, you were very careful, Peter. Now do sit quietly. There's a good boy." Mr Whitlock's tone was pleading, and when he took a seat next to Alice in the front pew, he heaved a sigh. "I am so glad he is on the mend, but his exuberance is wearing. I have been looking forward to today, to having him with me." Despite his concern, pride shone from his eyes, and Alice's heart did a little skip. "But now I am worried he is going to disrupt the ceremony. He is a wonderful boy, and I don't want people to think badly of him."

Mr Whitlock looked so forlorn that Alice ignored her better judgement and placed her hand on his forearm. "They won't," she said, giving him a gentle squeeze. "You heard everyone as we came in. They are pleased as Punch to see Peter looking so well. Even if he is a bit disruptive, I am sure they will be forgiving."

"You think so?" He placed his hand over hers, and Alice's breath caught in her throat.

"I do," she whispered, and they stared at one another for a moment before facing forward and returning their hands to their respective laps.

To all their relief, the christening went without a hitch, once it got underway. Edward and Isabella were late and quietly informed Alice and Jasper that David had soiled his napkin just as they were about to head out the door. Isabella and the nursemaid had just finished getting him sorted when Elizabeth decided it was her turn. Then halfway to the village, David had managed a repeat performance.

"It was an utter nightmare trying to clean him up in the carriage," Isabella confided to Alice after the service. They were enjoying afternoon tea in the recently constructed hall adjacent to the church. "I hope they are not sickening with something."

Alice made cooing noises at the baby girl in her arms before assuring her mother it was likely just poor timing.

"Speaking of timing, we'd best get a move along." Isabella turned to where her husband was speaking with her father and Mr Whitlock. "We need to get the twins home and settled before the hordes arrive for tonight's festivities. Will you be driving up with Mr Whitlock, Alice? We are sending a carriage for my father and sisters if you would feel more comfortable travelling with them."

She should have latched onto the lifeline with both hands, but Alice found herself looking to Mr Whitlock, who had glanced over at the sound of his name.

"You are welcome to take the carriage, since it is yours also," he said, drawing her aside. "But I am afraid I shan't be attending tonight's celebration. With Mrs Carter called away, I have no one to watch Peter."

The boy was sitting with his head resting against Tanya's shoulder. He'd had a wonderful time but looked done in and certainly not up to a late night. Alice still couldn't believe Mr Whitlock got by with only Mrs Carter's help, though she guessed his financial situation precluded him from hiring a nursemaid for Peter.

"He could spend the night at my place," she offered, thinking it would be a pity for Mr Whitlock to miss the dinner and ball being held, at least partially, in his honour. "Marjory will be keeping an eye on Edith for me, and she could watch Peter also. He could sleep on the settee."

"Are you sure she wouldn't mind?" he asked.

"Not if I pay her a few extra coins." Alice smiled, though it faded in the face of Mr Whitlock's visible wince. "It is no bother," she added.

"It is for me, I am afraid." He ran his finger around the inside of his cravat, tugging on it as if it were too tight. "I am yet to pay you what I owe, Miss Brandon, but I promise I shall settle the account on Tuesday once the funds are available. I can't ask you to add to my debt."

"You didn't ask."

Mr Whitlock looked away, but Alice leaned to the side and captured his gaze again.

"I offered," she said. "Isabella and Edward will be disappointed if you don't attend. Please don't let pride get in the way, as we are talking about only a few coins. That is nothing in comparison to your arranging for me to have access to a horse and carriage, which you might recall I accepted without making any fuss."

"So, you did." Mr Whitlock's tone was deferential but, without his luxuriant moustache for camouflage, there was no disguising his smirk.

Alice couldn't decide whether she preferred being able to see his lips more clearly. She was extremely partial to his moustache and beard, but his lips were well formed, the lower one slightly fuller than the upper. They looked surprisingly soft, not that she had any right to be wondering about such things. Like how they would feel pressed to hers. What they would taste like.

Heat flushed her cheeks, and she turned away. "Good. The decision is made," she said, crossing the room to Peter. "We can drive to your place first and collect Peter's nightwear before taking him to my cottage. Will you mind waiting while I change my gown?" she asked over her shoulder, having rightly assumed Mr Whitlock would follow.

"Why are you going to change it? It is lovely," he blurted and then snapped his mouth shut. Colour rose in his cheeks, making the two of them a pigeon pair.

With warmth now suffusing her entire body, Alice's lips curved. He liked her gown. Did that mean he liked her?

Her smile faded, and she shook her head, trying to get a grip on her wayward emotions. Mr Whitlock's feelings for her, and she doubted he possessed any beside gratitude, were irrelevant. Attraction, romance and, God forbid, love wasn't a possibility, and she was setting herself up for disappointment by contemplating them, regardless of Edith's outrageous suggestion.

 **~D &D~**

 **Peter gives me such a chuckle. I based him on my, then, almost five-year-old granddaughter who is a chatterbox and comes out with the funniest things.**

 **You all seem very happy with how things are progressing between these two and are quite forgiving of the slow burn. I _may_ have peeked ahead, so I can assure you a breakthrough, of sorts, is not too far away. Tomorrow we're off to a ball, and we all know what happens when I let my characters share a carriage!**

 **xx Elise**

 **You can find me on Facebook at Elise de Sallier's Stories. I post pictures to illustrate each chapter...as best I can. :)**


	12. Outtake Part 2 - Fruitful

**Here is the second half of the outtake I posted last weekend. It was a little more difficult to get into our lovely viscount and viscountess' heads than usual, as I am writing such varied characters at the moment. In the end, I decided to have a little fun with this one, and the words began to flow. I hope you enjoy it.**

 **I'll be posting it both in Duty and Desire and the end of Passion and Propriety, for those readers who haven't yet moved on to the sequel.**

 **xx Elise**

 **PS: Unbetaed, so please forgive any mistakes.**

 **~P &P . . . D&D~**

 **Outtake Part 2 – Fruitful**

For the second time that night, Isabella found herself staring into the full-length mirror in her dressing room. This time she was clothed, barely, in the diaphanous gown she had first worn on her wedding night. Shaking her head, she wondered how she had ever found the courage to wear it considering her, then, virginal state. Determination had played no small part. It had also helped that she hadn't tormented herself with a prolonged viewing, barely pausing to glance in the mirror before positioning herself to await Edward's arrival. The problem, on _this_ occasion, was that the view had most definitely changed. Angela's assurance that no one would judge her for those changes gave only modest comfort.

Tears stung Isabella's eyes, and she seriously contemplated going in search of the voluminous coverall Lady Westcott had deemed suitable for a new bride to wear when enduring the attention of her husband. A half-laugh, half-sob escaped her lips, when she recalled the gown had been sacrificed to make a surprising number of tiny garments for her babies. While the 'tent-gown,' as she had named it, was no longer an option, she did have other, less-revealing, nightgowns. But before she could go in search of one, she caught sight of her husband's reflection in the mirror, standing in the doorway behind her. She spun to face him.

"Sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice hoarse. "What are you wearing?" He shook his head. "I mean, I know what you're wearing. It's the gown you wore on our wedding night, a night I shall never forget and not only because I got to see you in that stunning gown. What I meant to say was _why_ are you wearing it? Are you . . . is it . . . can we . . .?"

Harried, Isabella reached for her robe, but before she could do more than grasp it with her fingers, Edward stepped forward.

"Don't cover yourself . . . please?" He gently pried the robe from her clenched fist. "I adore the way you appear in this gown, but the last time you wore it I was too afraid to look my fill."

"The last time I wore it, I had a smooth belly and pert, well, pert _everything_ ," Isabella said in a voice that shook. "Now I'm all saggy and droopy and I don't know how you can bear to look at me."

The expression that appeared on Edward's face might have seemed comical if Isabella's emotions weren't so fraught.

"Ahhh . . ." he murmured, seemingly lost for words before he gave his head another shake. Then he pulled her unyielding form into his embrace. "My darling wife, I can not only _bear_ to look at you, I am honoured to do so." He pulled back and waited, insistently, until she met his gaze. "As far as I am concerned, you are the most beautiful woman in all the world, and I give thanks, multiple times daily, for the blessing of being your husband. You must never doubt that my affection and admiration are wholly sincere."

Isabella's defensive stance melted, a little. "You're not just saying that?"

"To what end? Maybe it would be best if I show you," he said, drawing her with him toward the bedroom.

Isabella's earlier panic flourished. "There are too many candles lit," she said with far more alarm than the situation warranted, but unable to help herself. "I don't want you to see me like this. The light is too harsh."

Keeping his head deliberately averted, Edward left her standing by the bed and went around the oversized room, snuffing or dimming every lantern or candle bar the one beside the bed. Only once they were both lying upon it, did he look her way.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded, feeling childlike relief. He sat and removed his robe, leaving him wearing only his short breeches. Then, after tenderly kissing her lips, he took hold of the hem of her gown. "May I?" he asked, slowly skimming it up her legs.

Isabella nodded, even though a large part of her wanted to burrow beneath the bedclothes and hide. Thankfully, Edward took his time getting to the area of her body about which she was most concerned. In a leisurely manner, he kissed and caressed his way up the length of first one leg and then the other. Her thighs were not as slim as they had once been, but that didn't seem to bother him, as he praised the creaminess of her skin, the softness of the short—well, compared to his—hairs upon her legs, the shapeliness of her ankles and knees. He even professed to liking the appearance of her feet!

Isabella assumed, once he had pushed her gown that high, the he would pause at the shadowed juncture of her thighs. Surprisingly, he by-passed it, smoothing his hands along her well-rounded hips and pushing the gown until it bunched up just beneath her breasts.

Her belly, her stripy, saggy belly with its misshapen navel, was now on display, and she felt a return of the tears that had plagued her more since the birth than ever before in her life. Alice assured her it was perfectly normal and not permanent, but she didn't appreciate this change in her temperament one iota. Nor did she like the changes in her body, no matter how much she told herself they were mere proof of motherhood and nothing of which to be ashamed.

Edward glanced up at her, his expression filled with too many emotions for her to decipher them all. Disgust did not _seem_ to be amongst them. His focused shifted back to the belly she had, so far, managed to keep hidden from him since soon after the births of their babes. He appeared to study it, his brow furrowed and gaze intent. She had relaxed, a little, from his earlier kisses and compliments, but the longer he remained silent, the more her muscles tensed. Then he did something unexpected. He bent his head, so he could begin placing kisses, deliberately placed kisses, along each and every red or silvery stripe. In between the kisses, he murmured words that took a moment for Isabella to discern.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Precious . . . beautiful . . . life-giving . . . courageous . . . miraculous."

Tears of a different kind pooled in Isabella's eyes. When she blinked and sniffed them back, Edward looked up to reveal his own eyes were similarly afflicted.

"Do you know what I see when I look at these marks that adorn your stomach?"

Isabella shook her head, though she was beginning to suspect.

"I see the wonder of creation, the miracle of life, and the means by which you have made me a happier man than I had thought it was humanly possible to be. I _love_ you, Isabella. I love you for _you._ I love you for giving me our two, miraculous children. I love you for loving and desiring me despite my many scars and flaws. Do you know how it makes me feel whenever you kiss my scarred cheek, or shoulder, or leg?" His question appeared to be rhetorical, as his torrent of words continued. "The first time you kissed my cheek, I assumed it must have been an aberration, but you did it at every opportunity, even when you were cross with me." They shared a watery laugh at the memory of their first week of marriage when he had driven them both to the brink of insanity with his passionate kisses that always came to an abrupt halt. "You accept me for who I am, my Bella, for _all_ that I am, faults and all, visible and otherwise. What sort of husband would I be if I were to do any less? Although, keep in mind," he said, pausing to place a long, savouring kiss to her navel, "I do not see these as faults but trophies, hard won and worthy of celebration and display . . . only to me, of course. If another man were to witness your beauteous naked form his death would swiftly follow."

Isabella laughed, but she suspected he was not actually speaking in jest. A question hovered on the tip of her tongue . . . _Are you sure you are not bothered by the way I look?_ But after his heartfelt words, she knew it would be wrong to voice it. Instead, she summoned her much-vaunted courage and opened her arms—and heart.

Edward came willingly, removing her gown, as he moved up her body. His head lowered to hers, but before their lips met, he whispered, "Thank you, my love. I _know_ it's not easy coming to terms with changes in one's body."

"You make it seem much less of a problem than I had built up in my mind," she said before surrendering to his kiss. They had shared many since the twins' births, but they had endeavoured to keep them somewhat chaste so as not to overly stir their passions. Tonight, they were under no such constraints, and the kiss soon deepened. Their mouths opened to one another, lips tasting and teasing while their tongues entwined. Isabella stroked her husband's warm, bare back and shoulders, loving the breadth and strength he possessed. When her hands reached the waist-band of his breeches, she slid her fingers beneath the cloth, cupped his equally muscular backside, and squeezed.

Edward groaned and thrust against her. His hands had been busy doing some caressing and stroking of his own, though he had been wary of her enlarged and, admittedly, tender breasts. It saddened Isabella, but her nipples were so sensitive from the multiple feedings required of them each day, she deemed it a necessary restraint. She was also cautious of any action that might induce her milk ducts to decide it was time to release their bounty!

When Edward put a hand to the waist of his breeches and began to push them down, Isabella realised that, in all her maudlin dilly-dallying, she had forgotten a very important step in her preparations.

"Wait," she said.

Edward froze. The look in his eyes when he lifted his gaze to hers was nothing short of pained. "You have changed your mind?" he asked, sounding awfully like a little boy about to be deprived of his sweets.

"No, I just forgot I have to do something first."

"It cannot wait?" Edward asked sounding incredulous.

Isabella smiled, secretly flattered by his eagerness. "It will only take a moment, but then we shall be able to enjoy ourselves without fear of repercussions or need for restraint." She gave him a pointed look, willing him to discern her meaning.

"Oh?" Edward murmured, sounding puzzled. Then his eyes widened to match her expression. "Oh! You spoke with Alice and obtained the, er . . . sea-sponge?" he whispered the last two words as if they were describing something scandalous. Considering they were planning on using the typically mundane item in a manner that many would deem sinful, she understood his caution.

"Yes, indeed," Isabella said, sliding down the side of the bed until her feet reached the floor. "I've even had a practise run inserting the sponge, so I know I can do it, but I have settled on lemon juice rather than vinegar. Alice said either would be satisfactory, and I prefer the aroma. There is such a thing as a lemon-scented perfume, but no lady, in her right mind, would choose to go about smelling like salad dressing."

Edward swallowed a snorted laugh and ended up choking on it. When he had finished coughing and spluttering, he helped himself to the glass of water Isabella liked to have on hand beside the bed. Leaving him to sort himself out, she opened the bottom drawer of her night chest where she had hidden her prophylactic supplies behind a bundle of scarves. They consisted of an irregular shaped sponge, a lemon, a knife with which to cut it, and a shallow bowl in which to squeeze the juice and soak the sponge. There was also a small jar of honey Alice had given her to rub onto her perineum—that was a word one never used in polite society—to aid in the healing of the tear she had received at the twins' births. To Isabella's relief, despite the inconvenient stickiness, the honey had worked wonders, and she had healed remarkably well. Next to the honey was another jar, this one containing an herbal oil and lard-based unguent. It was also courtesy of Alice but created for the purpose of massaging into her striations to smooth their bumpiness and, over time, lessen their distinctive colouring. Isabella found it very soothing. Being a tad anxious about resuming marital relations after enduring the rigours of birth . . . twice—not something one forgot in a hurry—Isabella had concluded the creamy emollient would come in handy for a purpose for which she seriously doubted it was designed. Although, she couldn't be the _only_ wife in the Masen District who had put it to such use . . . surely?

"What have you got there?" Edward asked, standing behind her and looking over her shoulder at the contents of the drawer. "It looks like you're gathering supplies for a picnic."

It was Isabella's turn to burst out laughing, although the thought had crossed her mind.

"If Angela comes across my little stash, I shall tell her I am still suffering from cravings . . . highly unusual cravings."

"I'll say," Edward muttered. "Although, you almost have the all the ingredients for lemon butter."

"Ooh," Isabella exclaimed, liking his suggestion. "That's an even better excuse, though why I'd be making it here in my bed chamber would be harder to justify."

"Fixings for a sore throat remedy?"

Isabella rolled her eyes. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that? Although I'd have to follow it up with a feigned cough, and we both know I am not much of an actress."

Edward wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. "You could tell her it's none of her business . . . or, here's a novel idea, just tell her the truth. You trust her, don't you? The two of you seem to have grown even closer since she was such a help at the births."

Isabella turned to face her husband and nestled herself in his embrace, her nudity, and the flaws it revealed, no longer a problem.

"I do trust Angela," she said. "In fact, I trust and like her so much, I think it is time I found myself another lady's maid."

Edward lifted his head from where he had been nuzzling her neck. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because, then I could offer Angela the role of my companion. She is a lovely, well-educated young woman whom, I have just discovered, has an even more tragic past than I suspected, and I would like to see her reduced circumstances reversed. Would you mind? I have _more_ than enough income to sponsor her return to society. I thought a new wardrobe and an allotment, so she is no longer forced to work for a living, wouldn't go astray. What do you say?"

"I say that is a perfectly acceptable idea if you so wish it, but may we speak more of this at a later date?" Edward hands had drifted down to her buttocks, and he emphasised his words by cupping the round globes and pulling Isabella up and against his, now straining, erection. "It has been at least three months, and I own to a degree of impatience."

She giggled, a sound she had not expected to utter this night after her earlier fit of self-doubt.

"Just give me a moment," she said, wiggling free of his arms so she could set the necessary accoutrements on her dresser. Once the sponge had been soaked in the lemon juice and then squeezed just enough so it wouldn't drip all over the place, she hesitated. Inserting it while her husband watched was possibly too far outside her area of comfort for her to continue.

"Would you like me to turn my back?" Edward asked, and she released the breath she had been holding.

"Yes, please," she said, accomplishing the task quite quickly once she no longer had an audience. On her trial run, the juice had stung a little. Nothing too severe, but applying a thin layer of the soothing, and protective, emollient to her sensitive nether region, _before_ she inserted the mildly-acid soaked sponge, made for a much more pleasant experience this time around.

"All set," she said with a hint of triumph before climbing back onto the bed. To be on the safe side, before laying down, she placed upon the sheets one of the heavy linen cloths she used for extra protection when she had her courses. While she was busy, Edward removed his remaining garment and then lay down beside her. He wasted no time in drawing her close and showering her with delicious kisses and arousal-inducing caresses. He only paused from his welcome endeavours to lift his head and ask, "Alice is confident the lemon juice and sponge are all we need to prevent conception?"

"Since I am also nursing, which is somewhat of a safeguard by itself, then yes, it is fine." She cupped his cheek, admiring his dear face and better understanding the uncertainty in his gaze. Almost losing her life at the birth, and then fighting the awful infection in the weeks afterward, had been frightening for them both. "Once we don't have the protection of my nursing the babes, we can take the extra precaution of having you withdraw. Then I am sure we shan't have any unwanted surprises."

"You don't mind if we settle for only the two children? I don't know if I could go through that again."

Isabella smiled. Women really were the more resilient of the genders in many ways, as she fully intended they would expand their brood . . . in time.

"Let's not worry about that now, shall we? I don't want to leave it too long and have the lemon juice lose its efficacy."

Edward's brows rose. "Is that possible?"

"Better safe than sorry," she murmured, done with talking and more than ready to get busy loving her husband in all the delightful ways they had at their disposal. Three months truly was too long.

Edward's hands and mouth resumed their dual actions of tasting, teasing, soothing, and stroking until Isabella writhed upon the bed, her delighted moans filling the air. When she was but a hair's breadth away from finding the first, much needed, release she would have experienced in a full, quarter-year, her husband lifted his head.

"What of the babes? Are we likely to be interrupted? I locked the door, but what if they need to be fed?"

"Edward!" Isabella reached down to thread her fingers through the top of his, typically unruly, hair and directed his troubled gaze away from the door and up to meet her exasperated expression. "The babes are fine. Nurse Reynolds has matters well in hand, as I suspect the woman could outproduce a Jersey cow. I asked her to wake me for the early morning feed, the one I usually skip. Now can we _please_ get back to the matter in hand?"

Her large but loving, fiercely protective, and surprisingly nurturing husband assumed a suitably chagrined expression. "Sorry, my love," he murmured before putting his talented fingers, mouth, and tongue—the first time he had used that on her delicate folds had been quite the revelation—back to work, quickly engendering the much desired, and much appreciated, response.

Isabella was still revelling in the languorous waves of completion when Edward climbed up her body and positioned himself between her lax thighs. Wanting him to experience the same degree of bliss he had just gifted her, she spread her legs wider, hugged his hips with her knees, wrapped her arms around his broad back, and urged him home.

It didn't quite work the way she had hoped. Whether it was because they were out of practise, or as a result of scar tissue having tightened the area, she wasn't sure. But it took both their hands to position and guide his member into place. He thrust forward again, and another obstacle presented itself. Pain. A most unpleasant, burning pain. Unable to help herself, Isabella both winced and whimpered.

Edward paused. "Is there a problem?"

Isabella's brow furrowed in contemplation. "Pass me the jar of emollient," she said, his arms longer and more easily able to reach the bedside chest of drawers upon which it sat. Once he had handed her the jar, she scooped a small dollop of the cream from inside and then reached between them to smooth it along his hardened length and around her resistant entrance.

"Try again," she instructed after tossing the jar to the empty side of the mattress.

Edward complied, and they both sighed with relief. Hers, from the lack of pain and the ease with which he was able to slide all the way in, and his, no doubt, from the pleasure of being encased in her silky warmth. She had once had him describe what it felt like, and she could imagine he had missed being inside her as much as she had craved having him there.

Holding still once he was fully encased, Edward met her gaze. "Better?" he asked.

"Perfect," she whispered. "Now move!"

"So bossy," he said with a smile, although he was quick to obey. He moved slowly, at first, and then with increasing vigour, as it became apparent that Isabella was not detrimentally affected by their activities. Industrious in his endeavours, in time, Edward brought them both to the brink of ecstasy. They hovered there in aching anticipation, adoring gazes locked. Then, with their cries mingling together, they tumbled over the precipice and beyond to a world of joy and intimacy and passionate fulfillment. It was a familiar place, one the friends-turned-spouses-turned-lovers would revisit time and time again throughout their long, happy and, quite literally, fruitful union.

Lemons are a fruit, after all!

 **~P &P . . . D&D~**

 **Hopefully you found that both fun and satisfying. I've posted chapters in two stories this week where they've been rather chatty before and during sex, but that's life sometimes, and Isabella/Bella had some serious insecurities to overcome in both situations.**

 **Passion and Propriety has been nominated in the TwiFanfictionRecs Top Ten Completed Stories for February. I don't expect to make the Top Ten, but your vote would be greatly appreciated. The last time I can recall winning a prize was 38 years ago. I was 16, and I won a box of chocolates at the weekly disco. Yeah...I had the moves. ;)**

 **xx Elise**


	13. Disclosures

**I'm glad you all enjoyed the lemony outtake. *snicker* I'm even happier to know you are missing our resident herbalist and estate-manager and their budding relationship . . . oh, and Peter and Aunt Edith, of course. :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **Chapter 11**

 **Disclosures**

It was imperative Alice resurrect the defences Mr Whitlock's compliments and considerate manner had dismantled, but with her mood at sixes and sevens, she struggled to find the will. Driving with him to the estate manager's residence, a sleepy Peter resting his head upon her lap, she couldn't help imagining they were a family, returning to their shared home.

Stroking Peter's silky fringe from his forehead, she smiled when his prominent cowlick popped back up every time. He was a fine lad, and his father an unexpectedly endearing gentleman, so it was hardly surprising the two of them had wormed their way into her heart. Timing probably had a lot to do with it. With her best friend now happily married, it was little wonder Alice was feeling dissatisfied. Predictable, even. It was only in fairy stories that one got to have one's cake and eat it, too.

Peter awoke when the carriage stopped. His fatigue gave way to exuberance when he learned he would be sleeping the night at Alice's house, though his excitement waned when she told him she wouldn't be there, as she would be going out with his father.

"But I want _you_ to read me a story and tuck me in," he said, his lower lip jutting out.

"Maybe another time," she said, quietly questioning the wisdom of her offer. It wasn't like her to be sentimental, and the sooner she snapped out of this strange mood the better.

Subdued at meeting Marjory for the first time, Peter clung to both Alice's and his father's hands, falling back when Edith called out from the bedroom for them to bring the boy in for her to meet.

"Hello, Mr Whitlock. I 'aven't seen ye in a while, but Alice mentions ye _all_ the time. And this must be Master Peter." Her aunt smiled and beckoned them closer, while Alice stared daggers from behind Mr Whitlock's back. Appearing unfazed by the elderly lady's less-than-tactful admission, he offered his sympathies for her ill health.

"It is to be expected at my age." Edith shrugged her bony shoulders and lured Peter over with the promise of a boiled sweet. "My body's worn out, I'm afraid."

"Is that why your face is all smushed and crinkly?" Peter asked, and Mr Whitlock groaned. Before he could apologise, Alice's aunt waved him to silence.

"That it is, Peter. My face 'as done a lot of living. I've earned these wrinkles, some from frowning, a few from worrying, but most from smiling."

For once, Peter didn't comment, but his eyes grew round, and he did his best to maintain a neutral expression for the next little while. Edith's explanation would need modifying, lest the poor lad continue to fear showing any emotion. But he seemed otherwise relaxed in her company, going so far as to climb up beside the nonagenarian when she invited him onto the bed.

Mr Whitlock had made sure to bring along a serving of the stew Mrs Carter had left for Peter's supper, though the boy professed not to be hungry. Alice wondered what, if anything, he had eaten at the afternoon tea, but the thought was forgotten when Peter mentioned he still had an appetite for sweets.

"Only if ye eat yer supper," Edith insisted. Peter grudgingly agreed, and father and son departed the bedroom, so Alice could change.

Even more nervous than when she had been preparing for the christening, she twisted and turned to get a better look at her reflection in the less-than-adequate mirror above the dresser. Mr Whitlock had already seen her in this, her one and only ball gown, as had the rest of Forkton society. She suddenly regretted rejecting Isabella's offer to buy her a new one, though it would have been highly extravagant, since she had only worn her own gown the one time, a year prior.

Alice shuddered at the memory of the Westcotts' autumn soiree. Edward, jealous over not being able to dance with his wife due to his injured leg, had drunk far too much and almost caused a scene. Fortunately, Isabella had managed to entice him to depart early, but that had left Alice without her friend's buffering presence. She had only agreed to attend because Isabella had begged, and once she was gone, the evening had deteriorated without her protection. Lady Brandon had been yet to acknowledge Alice's elevated position as the best friend of the Masen Viscountess, and her stepmother's spiteful comments had proved difficult to ignore.

A few brave gentlemen had requested a place on her card, but Alice hadn't enjoyed her forays onto the dance floor. For starters, she had been horribly out of practice, years having passed since she had learned the intricate steps of the cotillions and country dances. But mostly, she had been dismayed when Mr Harrison, a middle-aged squire _almost_ old enough to be her grandfather, had asked if she might be interested in an "arrangement" like the one her mother had entered into with Lord Brandon. Not slapping his face had been an act of paramount self-control, but his sly words and groping hands had left a sour taste in her mouth. Having to cadge a ride home with Mr Whitlock, with whom she had been very much at odds at the time, had been the bitter icing on the cake. She had vowed never to place herself in such an uncomfortable position again. Yet there she was, looking _forward_ to attending a ball with the self-same gentleman.

It would be different, she assured herself. Lady Brandon had changed her tune, so Alice would have nothing to fear from that quarter. And she couldn't imagine any sane gentleman disrespecting the godmother of Lord Masen's twins, certainly not in his own home. Edward could be quite formidable when he had a mind, and while Alice prided herself on her independence, it was nice to know she had a protector of sorts.

As for Mr Whitlock, they were no longer at odds.

In expectation of the ball, Isabella had insisted Alice practise the dance steps with her during their weekly visits. Alice had been loath to admit as much to her friend, but she was looking forward to taking a turn around the dance floor. As the godparents, she suspected Mr Whitlock might ask her to dance. Despite all the arguments against placing herself in such intimate proximity to the man, she knew she would accept his request.

~D&D~

"Have I mentioned how much I like your gown?" Mr Whitlock asked from his place beside her on the carriage bench. There was enough room now that Peter wasn't with them, although the position did necessitate the occasional brushing together of their thighs. "That deep purple looks most becoming on you," he continued. "It brings out the green of your eyes."

Fearing she would be reduced to simpering like a debutante if Mr Whitlock issued another compliment, Alice merely smiled in response. He hadn't needed to say anything—not the first time at the cottage when he had declared her a vision, nor the two times since they had begun the journey up the hill to the manor. The look on his face when she had exited the bedroom she shared with her aunt had been sufficient, the memory of his slack-jawed expression and the darkening of his eyes enough to set her heart racing.

Alice was no fool, as a keen sense of observation was essential for one of her profession. She knew what she had seen. Mr Whitlock _did_ have feelings for her, and not just gratitude. He found her attractive. She was sure of it, for quite aside from his flattering words, she had thrice caught him staring when she gave into temptation and looked his way.

"You do realise you have seen me wearing this gown before?" she asked once she was sure her voice wouldn't betray her with excessive breathlessness.

His expression sobered, and he took a moment to respond. "You wore it to the Westcotts' autumn soiree, but I was too boorish to tell you how lovely you looked and too pigheaded to request a dance."

It was Alice's turn for her jaw to drop, but she quickly snapped it shut, her joy swamped by anxiety. This wouldn't do. It was one thing when she had believed herself alone in the infatuation, as she had known it couldn't lead to anything. Her feelings were an indulgence, a fancy that would soon pass. Reciprocation was a recipe for disaster.

"And here I thought you were too busy with your many admirers to have noticed." She managed a fake laugh. "If I recall correctly, you danced twice each with the Kennedy girls, at least once with all the other debutantes, and three times with the Swan sisters. I don't know about being pigheaded, as I doubt there was room on your dance card to have fitted me in."

He didn't laugh at her joke, and Alice's smile fell as she realised she had just revealed how closely she had been watching him that night. God forbid he imagine she had been mooning over him all this time.

"If I'd had any sense, I would have made it a priority to dance with you," he said, the intensity of his gaze triggering a riot of butterflies in her belly. To her relief, he made no reference to her cataloguing his dance partners like some besotted wallflower, but his words were unsettling nevertheless.

"Yes, well," she murmured, looking aside. There was no denying her thoughts had been addled by attraction, but it didn't seem Mr Whitlock was thinking any more clearly. He must know she wasn't a suitable object for his interest.

"Speaking of your admirers"—she turned to face him, a bright smile plastered on her face—"you caused quite a stir in church today." He frowned, and she continued in a rush. "Oh, come now, Mr Whitlock. Don't tell me you didn't notice the ladies eyeing your newly shaven face. There was so much fluttering of lashes going on, I nearly caught a chill from the breeze. I expect you will be inundated tonight with eligible young things desperate to attract your attention."

"You act like that is a good thing."

"It isn't?" She cocked her head to the side, and he shrugged one of his broad shoulders. "I had assumed, especially now that Peter's on the mend, you would be thinking about finding a wife. It has been some time since you were widowed—"

"Two years." His lips flattened into a thin line, and Alice feared she had overstepped the mark.

"I do apologize," she said, cursing her flippancy. "I didn't mean to speak out of turn. You must have cared for her a great deal."

He didn't answer straightaway but appeared to be weighing his words. When he eventually spoke, it was softly, like one sharing a confidence. "I barely knew my wife, and there was no love lost between us. I was sorry Peter lost his mother—not that she spent much time with him . . . hardly any at all. Although it was more than I had spent with him, of course. I was away in the war. I didn't know how ill he was until I returned for her funeral."

"Oh." Alice sat back, her shoulders feeling suddenly heavy. "That must have been a double shock."

He ran his hand wearily over his face. "You can say that again. Maria told me in her letters that Peter was fine. At first, I thought she had lied to me, but it turned out she had just been too caught up in frivolous pursuits to take the nursemaid's warning seriously. God knows what would have happened if I hadn't returned."

Well, that certainly explained his radical decision to resign his commission. Most men would have left their son in the hands of a relative, but if the boy's own mother had betrayed him, it would have been difficult to place his trust in another.

"I take it you have no desire to remarry?" It wasn't Alice's place to pry, but she couldn't resist. To her surprise, Mr Whitlock laughed, and she gave him a puzzled look.

"I can barely pay my bills as it is," he said. "How on earth would I support a wife?"

The conversation had veered well off the acceptable path, a place where Alice was typically quite comfortable, but now she found herself at something of a loss. Mr Whitlock's disclosures were ones normally shared only with an intimate acquaintence. Maybe, like her, he just needed a friend.

In the spirit of amiability, and because her curiosity was beyond aroused, she ventured an impertinent question. "Feel free to tell me it is none of my business, though you _were_ the one to raise the subject," she added in her defence. "But I struggle to understand your financial situation. London physicians are known for charging an arm and a leg, but surely someone in your position . . ."

"My position?" He raised a brow when she didn't continue. "I work for a living, Miss Brandon, just as you do."

"Yes, but you're an estate manager, a well-paid position, and your income is supplemented by a military pension. You are also the younger son of a baron, so I am assuming you have an inheritance, an estate somewhere—"

"You assume incorrectly."

He may have interjected, but he didn't seem offended by her prying, so rather than apologise, Alice waited for him to continue.

"There is no pension, I am afraid, nor an estate to generate income or inheritance to borrow against."

"But how can that be?" Alice shook her head, bewildered.

"I resigned my commission during a time of war, Miss Brandon. Being declined a pension was hardly surprising."

"But your son needed you. He was ill and had just lost his mother. Had your superiors no compassion for your plight?"

"They did, indeed, which is the only reason I wasn't court-martialled," he said with a wry smile. "As to my inheritance, let's just say it was lost on the backroom gambling tables of some rather pricey London establishments."

"You are addicted to the dice?" Alice drew in a harsh breath, unable to hide her dismay.

"Not I. My brother, the current Baron Whitlock. He gambled away both the family fortune and my portion of my father's estate, along with the country estate in Cornwall my grandmother left me. It would have been a lovely place for Peter to grow up."

"But I don't understand." In her befuddlement, Alice placed her hand on Mr Whitlock's arm, taking comfort when he covered it with his own. "How could your brother gamble _your_ property and lose _your_ inheritance? Did you grant him permission to use them as collateral?"

"I had no idea." Mr Whitlock turned and looked out the window, his jaw muscles clenching tight. "He forged my signature, my ruination accomplished while I was away battling Napoleon's army on the Portuguese Peninsula."

"Good heavens," Alice whispered, appalled. "Could you not have taken him to court, exposed his treachery?"

"To what end?" He turned back to her. "By the time I discovered what was going on, he had lost almost everything it had taken generations of Whitlocks to accumulate. My denouncing him would only have shamed the family further."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Alice nodded and reluctantly withdrew her hand. The poor man had suffered even more than she had suspected, and her sympathies and determination were roused on his behalf.

"What you need is a wealthy young debutante with a sizeable dowry."

"Do I now?"

Mr Whitlock's smile did treacherous things to her equilibrium, and Alice questioned the strength of her conviction. Redressing the damage that had been done him would necessitate his marrying a lady willing to buy him an estate. If his fortune was sufficiently restored, he would have no need of employment . . . no need to remain in Forkton.

"I think you are optimistic in assuming a lady of means would be interested in my sorry self," Mr Whitlock added with a chuckle.

"You don't have a title, but you have an excellent lineage," Alice insisted, but her defence was short-lived.

"My brother has lost all but the family home in London, causing considerable damage to the family name in the process. I fear my relationship to the current Baron Whitlock is a liability, not an asset."

"I see," Alice murmured, ashamed to acknowledge the relief she felt. Saved from trying to find a more suitable response by their arrival at the manor, she put the matter of Mr Whitlock's eligibility—or lack thereof—aside. It seemed they had even more in common than she had suspected.

Dinner was a mostly pleasant affair. Alice wasn't intimidated by the opulent surroundings, having become used to them on her regular visits. Nor was she affected by the knowledge she was surrounded by the cream of the Masen District's society. Still, she couldn't rid herself of the tension that hummed in her body.

Being seated across from Isabella and Edward, with Mr Whitlock at her side, meant the conversation never faltered. But she breathed a sigh when the ladies retired to the gold parlour, leaving the men to indulge in a glass of port before they made their way to the ballroom.

"Is something amiss?" Isabella asked, taking Alice aside. "You've been very quiet. Are you worried about your aunt, or did something occur during the journey to unsettle you? While I am glad Jasper turned to you for help with Peter, I fear we have made a mistake arranging for you to have shared use of a carriage. Was he rude to you on the drive? You didn't _seem_ to be at odds over dinner."

"Our relationship is perfectly civil." Alice fanned a hand in front of her face to cool her cheeks. Using the term "relationship" could be misconstrued, but what else did one call a friendship between peers?

"But there is something wrong?" Isabella persisted.

"Well, yes." Alice couldn't very well admit the truth—that she was infatuated with the blasted man. Knowing Isabella, she would set about matchmaking them, completely ignoring all the reasons why that was a dreadful idea. Fortunately, Isabella's query gave Alice an opening to address an issue she now knew wasn't temporary. "It is a rather delicate matter, and I am trusting you to be discreet." Isabella's eyes widened, and Alice rushed to add, "Are you aware of Mr Whitlock's financial situation? The poor man was defrauded of his inheritance, robbed of his estate, and denied a military pension. I fear, in combination with paying the exorbitant fees of all those butchers he enticed to visit from London, he is close to penury."

"Good Lord." Isabella's hand rose to the décolletage of her burgundy gown. "I knew about the lost estate, but I assumed he was in receipt of an officer's pension. How do you know all this?"

"He told me." Alice winced at how that sounded. "In strictest confidence, of course." Botheration, that was even worse. "All right, I admit it. We have become friends, but before you start gloating or jumping to erroneous conclusions, is there anything that can be done to help him? Mrs Carter is his only servant, and the poor woman is run off her feet now that Peter is up and about. She needs a kitchen hand to assist her, at the very least, and Peter needs a proper nursemaid to supervise him while Mr Whitlock is engaged with estate business."

"I am sure Edward would be happy to provide—"

"Yes, but you must do it in such a way that Mr Whitlock won't perceive as charity. We need to protect the man's pride."

Isabella folded her arms, eyeing her friend shrewdly. "I thought you deemed it arrogance, and that he needed taking down a peg or two."

"That was before he apologised and asked for my help. He can be quite civil when he puts his mind to it."

"I see." Isabella stretched out her words.

Alice rubbed her brow, feeling a headache coming on. "Don't go reading more into this than it warrants. Peter is my priority, and assisting his father is a secondary factor."

"If you insist," Isabella said, not bothering to hide her bemusement. "I shall speak with Edward on his behalf."

"Discreetly?"

"You have my word, but don't think this is the end of it. I know you want me to think you are unaffected, but Jasper always could get a rise out of you. Now I am beginning to suspect why. What is it they say about love and hate?"

"Nothing of value." Alice lifted her nose in the air, disgusted to hear her aunt's preposterous theory being aired by her best friend. To her relief, the gentlemen arrived to escort them to the ballroom. That Mr Whitlock made a beeline for her side was understandable—they were the godparents after all, the ball partially in their honour—though she had to admit it didn't help matters.

 **~D &D~**

 **Oh, Alice. Me thinks thou dost protest too much! Next chapter . . . the ball!**

 **xx Elise**

 **For images of the fancy dinner and gold drawing room, come check out my Facebook group, Elise de Sallier's Stories.**


	14. Conducive

**I went back to work today wearing a knee brace. Big mistake. Huge. I was just about to crawl into bed and have a nice old pity party when I remembered I hadn't posted tonight's chapter. I almost gave it a miss, but then I remembered it was 'The Ball', and I can't make you guys wait for 'The Ball'!**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 12**

 **Conducive**

Jasper was playing with fire and sure to be burned. Prudence dictated he distance himself from the flame, but Miss Brandon was too damned alluring. He had once thought her a shrew, but he had come to realise she was simply passionate about her beliefs. She was also surprisingly easy to converse with now that he wasn't provoking her at every opportunity.

Then there was her appearance.

A sigh escaped his lips as he watched her progress down the length of the ballroom, stopping to exchange greetings with various guests along the way. There were a number of attractive single ladies in attendance, but Miss Brandon outshone them all. He had struggled not to stare at her constantly at the christening, as she had looked so lovely. Her dark hair had been artfully curled, and her gown had matched the green of her eyes. When she had stood at his side during the ceremony, he had been so distracted he had taken a moment to respond when the vicar had asked for his vow to watch over David and Elizabeth in his capacity as their godfather. But that was nothing compared to the fool he had made of himself when Miss Brandon had emerged from her aunt's bedroom, hers also, he presumed, attired in the gown she had changed into for the ball.

She had looked glorious . . . and still did.

Her hair was piled even higher than earlier, with little curls teasing her nape. The neckline of her gown displayed the tops of her shapely breasts, and the waistline nipped in to show off her hourglass figure. Upon first seeing her, he had been almost overcome by the strongest surge of lust he had experienced in years. Rendered immobile, slack-jawed, and virtually incoherent, he had eventually uttered some inanity about her being a vision of loveliness—a trite and overused sentiment if ever he had heard one. He had attempted to remedy his lack of originality during the carriage drive, but he had never been one for spouting poetic phrases or flowery compliments.

Maybe if he had been, Maria wouldn't have despised him quite so intensely, though he doubted it. After the debacle of their wedding night, he didn't think there was anything he could have done to repair their relationship.

Forcing aside the guilt that inevitably accompanied thoughts of his deceased wife, Jasper compared her to Miss Brandon. Maria had been just a girl, where Miss Brandon was a mature woman. He had thought Maria pretty and her character pleasant enough, until they had become better acquainted, but his interest in the young lady who was to become his wife had never been more than mild. Miss Brandon, on the other hand, consumed his thoughts and roused his passions in ways he had never experienced. Logic told him nothing could come of it, as neither of them were candidates for matrimony, but his no-longer-dormant desires weren't taking any notice.

If it were only lust he was feeling, he wouldn't have been overly concerned, as he was used to suppressing it. But his emotions were well and truly engaged. At twenty-nine years of age he had fallen in love for the first time, and he didn't have a damnable clue what to do about it.

"Is everything all right, Mr Whitlock?"

Startled from his reverie, Jasper blinked to see Miss Rosalie Swan had joined him. He fixed a polite smile on his face, hoping she hadn't noticed the direction of his earlier gaze.

"I am well, thank you. And you?"

"I am also well, but I would be more inclined to believe your declaration if your brow wasn't so fiercely creased in contemplation." She cocked her head to the side, her sausage curls bouncing against her rosy cheeks. "I know. You are mentally rehearsing dance steps so as not to be left floundering on the floor."

Jasper huffed, his smile becoming genuine. He quite liked the second Swan daughter. With her fair hair and blue eyes, she could almost have passed for his sister, though her personality had more in common with Miss Brandon's than his. Both shared a somewhat acerbic tongue, and neither suffered fools with any patience.

"Actually, I am quite looking forward to the dancing," he said, his compulsive thoughts and hungry gaze returning to Miss Brandon despite his best efforts. In light of the ball's commemorative purpose, it was expected he would ask his fellow godparent to partner him. If it wasn't, it should have been.

"I am glad to hear it."

Miss Swan sounded amused, causing him to wonder if he had spoken a private thought aloud. He wouldn't place anything outside the realms of possibility, considering his somewhat addled state.

"Your newly clean-shaven appearance has created quite a stir," she continued, and he looked back to her. That's just what Miss Brandon had said.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, and Miss Swan gestured to a gaggle of lasses standing a few yards off to their right. He had not noticed their approach, but now that they had his attention, they began tittering and fluttering their eyelashes.

"They are all dying for you to put your name in their dance cards." A wry smile curved Miss Swan's lips. "You are not going to disappoint them, are you?"

Jasper stifled a groan. He had thought Miss Brandon had been teasing when she said he could take his pick of the district's eligible young ladies, but it appeared there was some truth to her words. Not that their interest would survive the revelation of his financial and familial state. He would go ahead and leak the news himself if it wouldn't have the potential to embarrass his mother and sister when they came to visit.

He would have thought the fact he worked for a living would have been evidence enough that his situation had been compromised. Even more frustrating was the fact he had given those ladies no encouragement. Since his arrival in Forkton, his hands had been full with Peter's care and the running of the vast Masen estate. All in all, he must have been the _least_ eligible gentleman in the district.

Huffing in exasperation, he ran a hand through his hair.

"You don't _have_ to ask them to dance if you don't want to . . . or me for that matter," Miss Swan murmured.

"Pardon?" Jasper asked with a shake of his head.

"You seem a tad distracted, Mr Whitlock. Are you sure there isn't a problem I could help with?"

"No, but that is very kind of you. Now if you will excuse me, Miss Swan." He bowed, first to her, then in the general direction of the gathered debutantes. Then he turned and strode across the room to where Miss Brandon was talking with her much younger half-sister, Miss Cynthia Brandon. They didn't look much alike, and he could only assume Miss Brandon took after her mother, the village maid who had been seduced by Miss Brandon's father. Jasper knew the story, having been guilty of listening to gossip whenever the village herbalist was mentioned. He wasn't proud of the fact, nor had he been astute enough to recognise the true nature of his interest in Miss Brandon until recently.

"Mr Whitlock, how lovely."

The younger Miss Brandon could flutter her eyelashes with the best of them, and Jasper stared at her for a moment, wondering if she could actually focus while doing so.

"How do you do, Miss Brandon?" He bowed politely, but when he would have turned to her older sister, Miss Brandon latched hold of his arm.

"I was so pleased to see your charming son at the christening today. Alice tells me he is on the mend. That is wonderful!"

"It is indeed." Jasper looked to Miss _Alice_ Brandon and caught her by the elbow when she made to walk away. The last thing he wanted was to be left in the clutches of her half-sister. Glowering, he signalled for her to stay, but she either misread his message or wasn't inclined to rescue him because she tugged her arm free.

"Miss Brandon," he called. "Don't leave. I came over to ask you to place my name on your dance card."

"Really?" she asked in unison with her sister. "Not Cynthia?"

Realising an outright denial would be rude, he granted a wan smile to Miss Brandon's sister, who was looking none too pleased. "I would be happy to dance with you also, Miss Brandon. Maybe a country dance later in the evening? Why don't you put me down for one after supper?"

"Not a waltz?" Her lower lip protruded while her eyelashes began their crazed flapping.

Country balls didn't usually feature the waltz but, as in most situations, the Viscount Masen was wont to do as he damned well pleased. In this instance, it pleased Jasper also, and he wasn't about to waste the opportunity.

"They are already taken, I am afraid." He managed a thin smile. "Now if you'll excuse me? The orchestra is warming up, and as godparents I thought it appropriate to partner Miss Brandon for the first dance."

The younger Miss Brandon's smile returned. "Oh, I see. That makes sense." She eyed her sister pointedly. "It wouldn't do for poor Alice to be left on the sidelines all evening when she is one of the guests of honour. That is very gentlemanly of you, Mr Whitlock, though it may take me some time to forgive you for not saving me a waltz."

Not sure how to respond, Jasper removed Miss Brandon's hand from his arm and turned to her sister. The older Miss Brandon's lips were flattened together, and she looked far from thrilled as he escorted her onto the dance floor.

"There was no need to embark on a rescue mission," she said as they took their places. "I am quite capable of taking care of myself, and it is not as though I haven't received other offers to dance . . . though not as many as Cynthia, of course."

"It is the other offers I'm worried about," Jasper muttered, linking their hands for the first steps of the cotillion. "I didn't mean to leave it so late to approach. Have you already given the waltzes away?"

They separated with the music, and Miss Brandon waited to answer until the steps brought them close again. "Why would that concern you? You have already put your name down for the waltzes with Rosalie Swan, I presume?"

Jasper frowned, puzzled by her tone, but he had to wait for them to take a turn with other partners and then be reunited. "I only said that to get your sister off the scent."

"Why would you do that?"

They were forced to separate again, but Jasper's gaze never left her face.

"Because I want to dance the waltzes only with you," he said once they were close enough for her to hear his lowered voice.

"With me? Are you sure?"

She sounded dubious, but he sensed an undercurrent of hurt. God knew how much rejection she had suffered in her lifetime, and a desire to soothe her feelings spurred him to make a rash admission.

"I would dance every dance with you if I could, but I shall settle for this one and the waltzes. I think we will get away with dancing together three times, considering the occasion."

Miss Brandon's eyes widened, and she blinked several times, but he suspected surprise, not deliberate coquetry, was the cause. He worried he had offended her, but she was made of stern stuff and acted for the remainder of the cotillion as if he had not said anything untoward.

After he escorted her from the floor, she handed over her dance card and watched while he pencilled his name next to the evening's two waltzes. The first was right before supper, and he counted down the minutes until it was time to dance with her again. In the meantime, he struggled to concentrate on the inane conversation of his various partners. The Swan sisters were an exception, and he found himself laughing at one of Rosalie's pointed quips. It reminded him of the sort of thing Miss Brandon would say, and he searched for her in the crowd. She was watching him, a troubled expression on her face.

Could she be jealous?

She had practically been matchmaking him earlier, telling him he needed a dowered wife to solve his ills. But after her reaction to the prospect of his dancing the waltzes with Rosalie, he suspected—hoped—that her interest in him was more than charitable.

There was no denying his reaction whenever he spied her dancing with other gentlemen, but acting on his jealousy would be disastrous. It didn't stop his muscles tensing or his hands threatening to form fists, and the pre-supper dance arrived just in time.

"Miss Brandon." He bowed over her hand before escorting her to the dance floor, where they took up the position for the waltz.

The string quartet Edward had hired for the occasion began to play, and they took their first steps in time with the music. Miss Brandon's brow furrowed, and her lips pulled into a grim line.

"You look like you would rather be anywhere else than here," Jasper said with a sigh. "Is the thought of waltzing with me really that awful?"

"It is not you. I have danced the waltz only once in the last decade, and that did not end well. I fear you will regret asking me, you _and_ your toes."

She stumbled and then gave him a look that said _see?_ But he relished the excuse to tighten his grip on her waist in order to lead her more effectively. Having her in his arms, albeit at a suitably respectable distance, was even better than he had imagined, and he was determined to make the most of the opportunity. It would have been even better if she enjoyed the experience.

They managed a turn without mishap, and he smiled in encouragement. She didn't return it but caught her lower lip with her teeth, drawing his gaze. He briefly considered releasing her lip with his thumb, soothing the abused flesh, and then kissing it better, a series of actions that would shock their onlookers and probably earn him a bruised cheek.

"What is it?" she asked at his quiet chuckle, but he merely shook his head. By the time they had accomplished a full circle of the ballroom, the tension in her muscles had eased.

"You are doing splendidly." His smile broadened, and he was rewarded with a slight curving of her lips.

"If you say so."

Disliking the hesitancy in her tone, he swung her through a turn, spinning her around until she laughed aloud.

"Mr Whitlock! You are making a spectacle."

A quick glance around the ballroom proved her words. People were watching them, curious expressions on their faces. Jasper banked his euphoria, assuming a suitably sober expression for the remainder of the dance. But that didn't stop him from savouring every step, every swish of her gown, every accidental brush of his thighs against hers. Their gazes remained locked, neither bothering to resort to idle chitchat. By the end of the dance, he was convinced she felt it, too—the attraction, the draw—and his heart hammered in his chest. It didn't mean he had forgotten the danger they were in.

When the music came to an end, he brought them to a halt, making sure to release Miss Brandon immediately, although he would have preferred to let his hand linger at her waist. He had been reckless, allowing his feelings to colour his actions, but he would make it right, make sure she wasn't subject to speculation.

She responded to his formal bow with an equally constrained curtsey, and neither of them commented on what had passed between them.

"Thank you for the waltz, Mr Whitlock. I enjoyed it immensely," she said in a small voice.

"You are most welcome, Miss Brandon," he replied in an equally low tone. "It was a pleasure I look forward to repeating."

He would have liked to raise her hand to his lips, to stay by her side during the supper break and monopolise her attention. But that would have been crossing a line he had already flirted with, one that would set tongues wagging . . . if they weren't already. Instead, he offered her his elbow and escorted her to the end of the ballroom where the supper tables were now groaning with delicacies. He left her in Isabella's good company before excusing himself and heading out to the patio. The cold air hit him like a fist, bringing him sharply to his senses.

What had he been thinking?

Striding along the stone-paved patio, Jasper cursed himself for a fool. Spending time in Miss Brandon's company these last few weeks had been a joy, awakening emotions and desires he had thought never to experience. But that didn't mean he should act upon them in a public place. It wasn't like him to be reckless. To make matters even more confusing, he found himself questioning long-held beliefs. The odds were slim, but he couldn't help wondering if Miss Brandon was feeling similarly challenged.

Jasper heard someone approaching and feared he had been cornered by one of the foolish young debutantes who had been fawning over him all evening. If the silly girl thought to entrap him, she would be in for a rude shock—both at his refusal to be coerced and at the extent of her mistake when he explained his situation. He stepped from behind the pillar he had been leaning on, ready to put an end to the intruder's pointless pursuit, only to discover Miss Brandon standing with a plate of food in each hand.

"I brought you some supper," she said, a tremor in her voice.

Closing the distance between them, he saw her teeth were chattering and her lips turning blue from the cold.

"Good God, you're freezing." After making sure they couldn't be seen from inside the ballroom, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the doorway of a nearby anteroom. Once inside, he took the plates from her hands and laid them on a table while she hugged herself around the middle to try to get warm. He briefly considered removing his tailored evening jacket and offering it to her, but by the time he'd have wrestled the tight-fitting garment from his body she would have expired from the cold. It had taken him forever to get the blasted thing on while she had waited with Peter in the carriage, and he dreaded having to remove it at the end of the night. Life without a valet was an ongoing challenge.

"What were you thinking going outside without your cloak?" he asked, crossing to a settee where he had spotted a velvet throw rug. After making sure it wasn't dusty, he brought it back and placed it around her shoulders. She gave him a grateful look and pulled the ends close.

"It wasn't my brightest move," she admitted, a blush visible on her cheeks even with the room's minimal lighting. "It is just you didn't return, and I was worried . . . that you would miss out on supper."

He took a step closer. "Is that really why you came looking for me, to make sure I ate?"

She looked down, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Just when he thought she wouldn't answer, she drew in a deep breath and lifted her head to meet his gaze.

"I wanted to know if you meant what you said . . . before . . . that you would like to dance every dance with me. It was a provocative statement, Mr Whitlock, and it left me feeling rather unsettled."

He raised his hand, almost summoning the courage to touch her cheek, before letting it fall.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't," she whispered. "But then you left abruptly, and I wasn't sure why."

"I wanted to keep my distance lest we give the gossipmongers any more ammunition. I shouldn't have swung you around like that during the waltz."

"I shouldn't have come looking for you."

"I shouldn't stand so close." There was less than a step between them, but he took it anyway. "And I certainly shouldn't kiss you . . . but God knows I want to."

She gasped and placed a hand on his chest. "I shouldn't allow it," she whispered. "I mean, it can't lead to anything . . . can it?"

"I don't know." Giving in to temptation, he slowly raised his right hand and cupped her cheek. The skin was even softer than he had imagined, and he caressed her jawline with his forefinger. "Do you ever regret your decision not to wed, Miss Brandon?"

"My decision?" She swallowed, and he felt the movement through the palm of his hand. "I don't really have much choice in the matter."

"No, I suppose not. But you are committed to your profession? You wouldn't give it up to have a family of your own?"

Her lower lip trembled, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "You already know the answer to that."

Releasing her, he took a step back and ran his hands through his hair, no doubt making a mess, just as he had made a mess of the entire evening.

I am sorry." He reached for her hand and was grateful when she let him take it. "It wasn't fair of me to ask, as it is not as if I am in any position to wed. But I would like you to know that if circumstances were conducive, I would request permission to court you, Miss Brandon."

She squeezed his hand, her smile sad and tender. "If circumstances were conducive, Mr Whitlock, I would say yes."

 **~D &D~**

 **Good Lord, conventions back then really were ridiculous! Sometimes I'm not sure why I write about them . . . but I do love the characters and the language and the settings, just maybe not the stifling restrictions. On the other hand, I have a feeling these two are going to find their way around them somehow. ;)**

 **Thanks to everyone who said they will vote for Passion and Propriety over at the TwiFanfiction Recs Top Ten. Much appreciated!**

 **Pictures of 'The Ball' - well, lots of different Regency Balls - on my Facebook Group page, Elise de Sallier's Stories.**

 **xx Elise**


	15. Wishing

**Hello! I was feeling a bit burned out, so I took a break. I hope you enjoy the chapter. It's a bit of a roller coaster ride!**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 13**

 **Wishing**

Alice was glad for the silence on the drive back to the village. Mr Whitlock seemed no more in the mood for casual conversation than she was. They had kept their distance for the remainder of the ball, mutually concluding it would be wisest to sit out the last dance of the evening, the waltz they had promised one another. Drawing further attention was not in either of their best interests, and they both were still reeling from their earlier encounter.

It had been life changing, except that in reality nothing had changed at all. Knowing they shared a mutual attraction was of no consequence. Alice wasn't about to give up her work, and Mr Whitlock shouldn't have asked it of her. She had a duty to her patients, to the people of Forkton. They needed her. The expertise and service she provided to the community was invaluable. It was unfair of him to raise the prospect when he was no more eligible for matrimony than she was. At least for him the possibility was remote, not nonexistent.

Her initial assessment had been correct. He would need a well-dowered bride to restore his position as a gentleman—a bride who wasn't put off by his occupation or his family's troubles. Peter would have a mother to care for him, and Mr Whitlock, an excellent father, could expand his family. It was a pity he wouldn't be able to continue in his current role as estate manager, as he had done wonders for the district. Still, one couldn't have it both ways, and the Masen estate's loss would be society's gain.

There. She had it all worked out. Sort of.

Finding a wealthy heiress willing to take on Mr Whitlock's considerable baggage would be a challenge. Then there was the matter of his previous experience with matrimony. It didn't sound as though it had been pleasant. He might not be open to a marriage based on financial expediency. He might want . . . love.

Was that what he felt for Alice? Would his feelings for her lessen his chances of achieving conjugal contentment with another?

The thought of him doing so caused a pain in her chest akin to a severe case of heartburn. She wanted him to find happiness but feared it would come at the expense of her own. Rubbing at the ache behind her breastbone, she marvelled at how quickly their lives had become entwined.

"Are you all right, Miss Brandon?"

When she didn't reply, Mr Whitlock took hold of her hand. Lacking the strength to rebuff him, she decided honesty was the best policy. "No, I'm not all right," she managed to whisper.

"I am sorry." His shoulders raised and lowered with a sigh, and she met his gaze. Remorse was evident in his blue eyes as they shone in the soft light of the brazier that warmed the interior of the carriage.

"It is not your fault." She shrugged, Edith's words of regret playing in her thoughts. What was the point of recognising what she was missing if she couldn't do anything about it?

"I wish things were different," Mr Whitlock said.

The sadness radiating from him combined with her own melancholy to form a loss they would share but could never publicly attest to.

"As do I."

Alice's eyes widened when he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her fingers. Just being in his presence increased her awareness of the womanly areas of her body. But the feel of his lips through the satin of her glove caused her breasts to tingle and a pulse to throb at the juncture of her thighs. She knew what was happening to her, as she had felt desire before. But never like this.

Advanced age must have addled Edith's thinking, for there was it was preposterous to think that Alice would enter into a dalliance with a gentleman, not after what her mother had suffered. But that didn't mean she wasn't tempted. Of course, the idea was moot, as Mr Whitlock would never make such a proposition. He was too honourable by half.

The knowledge she had nothing to fear from him should have been comforting, but instead it left her feeling sad . . . hollow.

She was almost twenty-seven years of age, hardworking, and pragmatic. Edith had been right that Alice didn't consider her physical needs other than food, shelter, or the rest she required to continue her endeavours. What about her emotional needs? Throwing caution to the wind wasn't an option, but that didn't mean she must deny herself _any_ experience of lovemaking. After all, an opportunity like this might never come again.

With shivers coursing through her body, she found the courage to ask, "Would you kiss me, Mr Whitlock? Properly?"

His harsh intake of breath sounded clearly inside the gently rocking carriage.

"It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me, since courtship is not on offer. Are you sure, Miss Brandon?"

She nodded, and to her surprise, his lips quirked in a smile.

"You promise you won't haul off and slap me?"

Her own lips twitched, though her smile masked genuine concern. "Not unless you accuse me of unladylike behaviour for making the request in the first place."

"Never." He shook his head, and her shoulders sagged with relief. "I am honoured you would grant me the intimacy. I just wish . . ."

He held her gaze while the tension mounted, the air crackling between them like a storm was about to break. Fearing the moment would be lost if she didn't act, Alice grabbed hold of the front of his jacket.

"Enough with wishing for things we cannot have. Kiss me."

Needing no further urging, Mr Whitlock lowered his head until his lips were hovering over hers. Their breaths mingled while his eyes, their sky blue darkened to the colour of night, roamed her face. Worried that his ingrained gentlemanliness would prevent him from fulfilling her request, Alice thought she might have to be the one to take the final step. But he rose to the challenge, spanning the space between their lips and pressing his mouth to hers.

Alice held perfectly still, not daring to breath. Her mind was not so constrained, and it clamoured to catalogue the unprecedented event. Her first observation was that his lips were warm and surprisingly soft. He moved them a fraction to brush against hers, and a torrent of sweet sensation flooded her body. It was extraordinary, like being immersed under a rushing waterfall . . . or so she imagined, never having had the opportunity to experience such a thing.

If his featherlight touch could produce such a cascade of pleasurable feelings, what would an increase in the pressure or greater movement achieve? She had almost summoned the courage to answer her own question when he drew back. His gaze lifted from her mouth, and he searched her eyes. Alice received the impression he was seeking permission to continue, so she gave it with a slight nod of her head. His gaze returned to her lips, which parted on a softly inhaled breath just before he touched his mouth to hers again. This time, just as she had hoped, he pressed a little firmer and brushed his lips from side to side.

Wanting to show she was a more-than-willing participant, Alice mimicked his movements. But her enthusiasm got the better of her, and her nose bumped his. Startled, she made a noise in the back of her throat, part chuckle, part whimper. A similar sound came from Mr Whitlock's throat, but deeper, more of a groan. She was worried she had offended him, but he had apparently seen the humour in the situation because the corner of his lips curled with the hint of a smile.

"Maybe if we tilt our heads," he suggested.

He sounded uncertain, which was puzzling, as he had to know more than she did about the mechanics of kissing.

"That sounds . . . sensible," she said, unsure if the word applied.

His chest shook with a silent laugh, and she was tempted to huff her disapproval at being mocked. But then he whispered, "You make me feel anything but sensible."

It wasn't a flowery compliment, but Alice's heart swelled. She knew exactly how he felt. Eager to continue, she cocked her head to her right just as he cocked his to his left, defeating the purpose, as their faces were still aligned. Wanting to get on with it, she tilted her head in the other direction. Unfortunately, so did he. Like a couple attempting to pass one another in a confined space who end up engaged in an impromptu dance, they both cocked their heads for a third time.

With a huff, Mr Whitlock released her fingers and cupped her face with his warm, bare hands. "Hold still," he said and tilted her head in one direction while he cocked his in the other.

Alice's mouth dropped open, but before she could protest his peremptory manner, he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs and teased the curls at the side of her face with his fingers. Then he kissed her without restraint, and her only concern was that he would stop.

She had been right.

More pressure and greater movement added up to an almost overwhelming increase in pleasure. A whimper sounded in the back of her throat. She feared he had interpreted it as distress when he removed his hands from her face. But to her relief, he gripped her shoulders instead, pulling her closer as he kept right on kissing her.

For long seconds he brushed his mouth over hers, first from one direction and then the other. Then he drew her lower lip between his and suckled it, the sensation soft, sweet, and incredibly arousing. When he released her lip, she whimpered again only to sigh with gratitude when he gave her upper lip the same treatment. Realising she could do the same to him— _for_ him—she risked a gentle suckle of his plump lower lip.

The groan that started in his throat and reverberated in his chest assured her he found equal enjoyment in this intimate activity. Emboldened, she mimicked his actions, gently sucking and nibbling at his lips before widening her mouth a little, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

And deepen it he did, far more than she had anticipated.

To her surprise, he brought his tongue into play, softly licking her lips before slipping his tongue between them and invading her mouth. The taste of him overloaded her already scattered wits, and she froze in place. He hesitated and, not wanting him to stop, she tentatively touched her tongue to his, revelling in the feel when he began stroking inside her mouth.

Isabella had tried to tell her about the wonders of this sort of kissing, but Alice had scoffed at her friend's outlandish tales. Not anymore. In under a minute, Mr Whitlock had converted her thinking entirely. Kissing was glorious! Well, kissing Mr Whitlock was glorious, as Alice doubted she would find the experience as pleasant with anyone else.

Adding to her enjoyment, he smelled wonderful, manly, and appealing. He also tasted delicious, his own unique flavour mixed with a hint of the wine and the chocolate they'd had for dessert. And he felt . . . well, she only knew how his mouth felt, and his hands on her shoulders, and both were perfect. But she wanted to know what the rest of him felt like, at least those parts it was acceptable for her to touch.

Alice stifled a snort, as there really wasn't anywhere acceptable other than the crook of his arm, and certainly nothing was acceptable about what they were doing. But she refused to care. It was extraordinary, and she couldn't believe she had gone her entire life to date without experiencing such wonders.

Deciding she had sat there like a lump on a log for long enough, she wrapped her arms around him. When he didn't flinch or shy away, she allowed herself the indulgence of stroking his broad shoulders and muscular back with her hands.

Oh yes. They felt fine also.

Mr Whitlock broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. "Miss Brandon," he whispered as they both panted for air.

Fearing he was going to bring their interlude to an end, Alice nuzzled his cheek with her own, seeking his lips. Just when she thought he might deny her and force would be required, he captured her mouth and began kissing her senseless once more. At the same time, he let go of her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her. With gentle pressure, he drew her close enough that her aching breasts pressed against his chest.

His hands roamed her back, and then he brushed them against her hips and up her sides. When he touched the swell of her breast with his thumb, Alice's entire body tightened—in particular her lower belly and between her thighs. The most delightful sensation rippled through her, and Alice cried out, a whimpering moan that drowned out the sound of Mr Whitlock's guttural groan.

"Is everything orright in there?" shouted Mr Wickers, their carriage driver, and the two of them sprang apart. Her breath coming in harsh pants, Alice stared at Mr Whitlock in alarm. For the life of her, she couldn't come up with an excuse for the noises they had made. He appeared equally befuddled, but she widened her eyes at him, urging him to respond.

"It is all right, Mr Wickers, we were just . . . singing," he called out, wincing at her look of incredulity.

"Singing?" she mouthed, and he shrugged his broad shoulders. Rolling her eyes, she leaned forward to speak through the gap in the leather flap that covered the front section of the carriage. "Yes, the Reverend Swan is thinking of putting together a choir this Christmas. We were practising."

"Practising, I see. Well, I don't think ye should give up yer day jobs." Mr Wickers' tone was dry. "Sounded more like ye've got a sick cat in there."

Mr Whitlock laughed, and Alice gestured for him to be silent.

"No, no sick cats," she called out to their surprisingly garrulous driver while giving Mr Whitlock the evil eye. "And no more singing."

"Aye, that's probably for the best," Mr Wickers replied. "We are passing the cemetery, and ye wouldn't want to go waking the dead."

Mr Whitlock snorted then clapped a hand over his mouth.

Alice had a choice. She could be offended or amused. While she was mortified and wanted nothing more than to hide her face against his chest, it wasn't Mr Whitlock's fault they had been overheard. And it was funny.

Giving in to the chuckles bubbling inside her, she joined him in shaking with almost silent laughter. Several minutes passed before they finally brought themselves under control.

"Do you think he believed us?" she asked, a return to sensibility sobering her tone.

"Probably not," Mr Whitlock said with another shrug. "But I don't think he is the sort to gossip. I'll have a quiet word with him later."

"Right." Unease settled like lead in Alice's stomach. "You know what this means, of course. We shan't be able to travel alone together in the carriage anymore, though that was already on the cards after this evening. Now that people are aware we are no longer at odds with one another, they'll not be inclined to turn a blind eye to our spending time together unchaperoned."

Mr Whitlock looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he blew out a long breath. "No, I suppose we can't. I also imagine I owe you an apology."

"An apology? I don't see why." Warmth bloomed in her cheeks, but she refused to act skittishly. "You are not the one who lost control and became overly _vocal_."

"I practically ravished you, Miss Brandon. I hardly think that qualifies as exercising restraint."

Ravished.

The word had dreadful connotations, and Alice had never thought to have it used in conjunction with her sensible self. But she had thoroughly enjoyed his kisses and caresses. He had no reason to feel guilty.

"I was the one who instigated the encounter, Mr Whitlock, not you."

"Only because you are braver than I am," he said dryly. "And you only asked for a kiss. Not, not . . ." He waved his hand in the air. "If anyone lost control it was me, though I fear an apology would be insincere."

"Because you enjoyed it?"

"I certainly did," he said huskily.

"Then please don't apologise." She pressed her finger to his lips. "I wanted to be kissed and now I have been. I know it was wrong of us, but I refuse to regret it."

"Then neither shall I."

Her boldness waning, she ducked her head and looked up at him from beneath her lashes. "You don't think badly of me?"

"Never," he said, repeating his earlier promise. "It was an honour, and I can't tell you how happy I am that you enjoyed the experience. You did enjoy it, didn't you?"

"I would have thought that was obvious," she said with no little exasperation. "I didn't know kisses could be like that."

"Neither did I," he muttered, which was as odd as his earlier comment alluding to a lack of knowledge in regard to kissing. He was a widow. It made no sense at all. But before she could ask him to clarify, he added, "I haven't shocked you too greatly?"

In all honesty, the answer was yes, but it was more her body's response than his actions that had astounded her. Far from offended, she was tempted to ask if he would be willing to indulge her again . . . just more quietly this time. She opened her mouth to make the request, then closed it with a sigh.

"What is it?" he asked, tightening his hold.

"It is nothing." She eyed him sadly. "I just wish . . ."

He studied her for a long moment, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was—wishing there was a way for them to be together.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and then he responded in a voice that was low and filled with what she suspected was the same need that clawed at her belly. "So do I, Miss Brandon, so do I."

The carriage drew to a halt outside her cottage, and Mr Whitlock released her to lean forward and tell Mr Wickers they needed a moment.

Lord, she hoped he was right and the man wasn't the type to tell tales about his employers.

"We should talk about this," he said, turning to face her. "About what's happening between us."

"What's there to say?" She straightened her skirts then patted her hair in place. "It was a lovely interlude, but we both know there can't be a repeat."

She secretly hoped he would argue, but before he could say anything, they were interrupted by a pounding on the carriage door.

"Miss Brandon! Mr Whitlock!"

"That sounds like Marjory." Alice pulled her cloak around her and reached for the door handle. "What is it? What's happened?" she asked the white-faced lass who stood trembling outside the carriage, wringing her hands together. "Is it my aunt?"

The lass nodded, tears coursing down her cheeks. "Aye, she's collapsed. I think she's overdone it trying to help Peter. The poor boy's dreadfully ill."

 **~D &D~**

 **Eep! Sorry for the cliffy. Do you remember how I said this story was written for publication by TWCS originally? Well, editors encourage writers to finish each chapter on a cliffhanger if at all possible, so as to keep the reader engaged and 'turning the page'. I blame them? On the bright side, it was a fun chapter up until that point. ;)**

 **Thanks for everyone who is voting for Passion and Propriety over at TwiFanFictionRecs Top Ten competition.**

 **xx Elise**


	16. Fanciful

**Hello again,**

 **You guys really don't like cliffhanger endings! After I'd posted last chapter, I realised I could have just left the last few lines off the chapter and added them to the beginning of this one, which might have made it easier on everyone. It still would have been an abrupt ending, so I'm not sure how much it would have helped. This chapter is a little bittersweet, I'm afraid.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 14**

 **Fanciful**

Alice scrambled down from the carriage and rushed up the path to her front door. A glance over her shoulder confirmed Mr Whitlock was right behind her, the grimness of his expression matching her feelings of dread. It seemed almost incomprehensible that a few minutes prior they had been wrapped in one another's arms, lost in sensual pleasures.

Bursting through the door to the cottage, she was relieved to see her aunt was lying on the bed, visible through the bedroom door, and not in a heap on the floor as she had feared. What condition she was in was another matter.

A whimper drew Alice's attention to the sofa, where Peter was curled up in a ball. She quickly crossed to his side, his father right behind her. Kneeling to examine the boy, her heart sank to see he was pale and sweating, his breath coming in harsh pants while his little arms hugged his swollen stomach. Her nose wrinkling, she took note of the fetid odour that permeated the room.

"He's had the most awful diarrhoea," Marjory said, confirming Alice's suspicion. "I've had to empty the chamber pot three times. That's what woke your aunt, I'm afraid. I had to sneak into her bedroom to get the pot from under the bed. I'm real sorry, Miss Brandon, but the lad was desperate."

"It is all right, Marjory. You did the right thing," Alice said while smoothing the damp locks back from Peter's forehead. "When did he fall ill?"

"Not long after dark. He wouldn't eat his supper, as he said he wasn't hungry. I thought he was just being fussy, but then he started crying and complaining of belly pains."

Marjory began to cry herself, and Alice stood and crossed to her side.

"Try to calm yourself," she said, rubbing the girl's arm. "Can you tell me what happened next?"

"Your aunt got up to help me with Peter," Marjory said between sobs. "She was going to get him some medicine, but then she started having trouble. I managed to help her back into bed, but she was clutching at her chest, Miss Brandon, and I am right worried about her. I should have gone for help, but I didn't want to leave them alone."

Alice shushed the weeping girl and led her over to a chair. Seeing that Mr Whitlock was comforting Peter, she braced herself and went to check on her aunt, finding her curled on her side, her eyes closed.

"Auntie Edith?"

Alice stretched out a shaking hand and placed it on her aunt's shoulder. The elderly lady's chest rose and fell with a faint breath, and Alice's knees weakened with relief. She took a careful seat on the side of the bed, and her aunt opened her eyes.

"Alice, is that you, dear?"

"Yes, I'm home now. What can I get you? Have you had your tonic?"

"Don't worry about me," Edith said, her voice a mere whisper. "The boy needs 'elp. I was on my way to mix 'im up some powder when my blasted breath ran out. I'm no use at all."

"Oh, Auntie, that's not true. It is not your fault you're getting old."

"Getting? I'm almost gone. There's nothing ye can do for me, so off with ye and look after the boy."

"Very well," Alice conceded sadly. "But I'll be back to check on you shortly."

Edith waved her away, and she slowly rose to her feet, hesitating for a moment before leaving to check on Peter. Mr Whitlock was cradling him in his lap, his face drawn with worry. Not wasting any time, Alice set about mixing some slippery elm powder with warm water, adding willow bark for pain and a dollop of honey to make the concoction more palatable.

"Here we go." She took a seat on the sofa and lifted the glass to Peter's lips. "I need you to swallow this down. It will help you feel better."

Peter whimpered and pressed his lips together, but after some coaxing from his father, he took a sip of the medicine.

"See? It's not too bad," Alice said, and he took a few more sips, eventually downing the thick, tan-coloured liquid.

"How soon will it help?" Mr Whitlock asked in a low voice while rocking his son in his arms.

"It is hard to say," Alice admitted with a helpless shrug. "But I am hoping he has already expelled the worst of whatever was bothering him, so things can start to calm down. Unless he has contracted food poisoning, but that seems unlikely as Mrs Carter is a stickler for cleanliness in the kitchen. I am more inclined to think this is a relapse."

"So am I." Mr Whitlock shuddered.

"Will he be all right now?" Marjory approached, wiping her eyes with a ragged-looking kerchief.

"Of course," Alice said with more confidence than she felt. "Now you head on home and get some rest. I shall speak with you in the morning."

"All right, Miss Brandon. I'm sorry I didn't know 'ow to 'elp 'im."

"It is not your fault," Alice assured her. "I am just sorry you had such a difficult evening."

Mr Whitlock added his apology and thanks, and the exhausted girl departed.

"I know you said there would be good days and bad days, but Peter's been doing so well," he said once they were alone. "I wasn't expecting him to relapse so badly. What do you think went wrong?"

"I have my suspicions." Alice stroked Peter's forehead, drawing the sleepy lad's attention. "Peter, did you eat anything at the afternoon tea today?"

The boy shot his father a guilty look, then ducked his head against Mr Whitlock's broad chest. Alice smiled, recalling that she had wanted to do the same thing in the carriage when _she_ was embarrassed.

"I made sure he had a good lunch, then I gave him an apple after the christening," Mr Whitlock said. "I told him not to eat anything at the afternoon tea, but I didn't have my eyes on him every minute. Did you disobey me, Peter?" he asked, his tone gentle but firm.

His son's eyes filled with tears, and Alice's heart ached for the poor lad.

"I'm sorry, Papa. It's just there were cream cakes, and scones with jam, and strawberry tarts—"

"And the temptation was too great, I suppose." Mr Whitlock heaved a sigh. "How much did you have?"

"One of each," Peter admitted in a small voice. "I sneaked them under the table when no one was looking. Is that why I'm feeling so sick, Papa? Because I was naughty? Am I being punished?"

"No, no." Alice patted Peter's arm. "It is not punishment, Peter, just rotten luck. It is perfectly understandable that you wanted to eat what everyone else was having, especially when it was all so delicious. But I am afraid your stomach doesn't like those foods."

"They make me sick?"

Alice nodded.

Peter's face crumpled. "You mean I can't ever eat anything that tastes good ever, ever again?"

"Come now, Peter." Mr Whitlock attempted an encouraging tone, though it was ragged around the edges. "Mrs Carter makes a delicious custard, and I know you like her rice pudding."

"I suppose." Peter sighed, but it didn't stop his tears from falling. When he had cried himself out, he let out a long sigh and his swollen eyelids fell closed. After he had remained still for a few minutes, Mr Whitlock lifted his weary gaze to Alice's face.

"He's asleep, thank God."

Removing her hand from Peter's arm, Alice hesitated for a second then placed it on Mr Whitlock's shoulder. "I know it's not pleasant, but it confirms we are on the right track."

"I suppose that is one way to look at it, but I hate seeing him like this." He blew out a shaky breath. "Brings back bad memories."

"I am sure it does, but at least we know how to help him. It took a few weeks on the new diet for his symptoms to settle down, but my guess is it won't take that long this time."

"God, I hope not, or the poor lad _will_ feel like he is being punished. It is bad enough he can no longer eat normally."

Alice sighed, knowing it was illogical but feeling she was to blame.

"Please, don't take me the wrong way, Miss Brandon," Mr Whitlock said, seeming to pick up on her mood. "I am beyond grateful you have found a way to help Peter." He looked down at his son with an expression of such tenderness, Alice felt her throat tighten. "I couldn't bear losing him. If he has to stick to a restricted diet for the rest of his life, then so be it."

"Which doesn't mean it is not difficult depriving a child of the simple pleasures the rest of us take for granted." Alice gave them both a sympathetic look. "Hopefully, in time, he will be able to tolerate some of the foods that bother him now."

"Do you think that's possible?" Mr Whitlock looked up, hope lightening his expression.

"I can't say for sure." Alice shrugged a weary shoulder, the long day and late hour catching up with her. Covering her mouth to stifle a yawn, she contemplated their next move. "It is cold out, and I would hate for Peter to catch a chill on top of everything else. Why don't you leave him here for the night and come fetch him in the morning? I shall be right through that doorway, so I shall hear if he needs me."

"Are you sure that's not asking too much?"

"You didn't ask, I offered." Alice stood and plumped Peter's pillow.

"Maybe I should stay and watch over him," Mr Whitlock said after he had carefully laid his sleeping son on the sofa and covered him with a quilt. "I could doze in a chair."

Alice could understand his reluctance to leave his son, but she dared not allow it.

"Peter will be fine, but I can't say the same for our reputations if you stay."

"You're right, I suppose, but I hate leaving him." Mr Whitlock ran a hand through his hair before giving her a sheepish look. "I don't want to leave _you_ either. Do you think I am terrible for saying so?"

"No, just not terribly wise." She felt the same but didn't admit it, as neither of them needed the temptation. "It is late, Mr Whitlock, and you are understandably upset. Now off home with you to get some rest, as I expect you back at a reasonable hour to collect Peter."

"I shall be here at first light," he said, emphasising his words with a determined nod.

"I said a _reasonable_ hour." Alice rolled her eyes, and Mr Whitlock managed a feeble laugh.

"Thank you _,_ Miss Brandon. You are a good . . . _friend._ "

Staring at the door after Mr Whitlock departed, she couldn't help feeling they were more than just friends. Then she reminded herself it didn't matter what their relationship felt like. It was defined by limitations they would ignore at their peril.

True to his word, and taking hers into mind, Mr Whitlock arrived an hour after sunup. His rumpled clothes and bristled chin were testament to the haste with which he had left his home, the dark patches beneath his eyes alluding to a lack of sleep. Alice was similarly deprived, having only managed a few hours of rest, but she was used to it. Knowing she would be having an early caller, a gentleman at that, she had managed to get herself into reasonable order before he had arrived.

Peter had only just woken, and he was understandably subdued. He had required the chamber pot only once more during the night, and his stomach wasn't paining him too badly. But he was pale and listless, a far cry from the exuberant lad who had entertained them all at the christening the day before.

"Give it time," Alice assured Mr Whitlock when he expressed his concern. "Meanwhile, keep him warm and his diet bland with _no_ cheating. I have given him another dose of the slippery elm this morning, and Mrs Carter has instructions on how to administer it. When are you expecting her to return from Thornlie?"

"A few more days, I'd say." He shook his head, his uncoiffed hair flopping over his forehead. "I'm not sure what I am going to do. I have paperwork piling up, safety inspections to make, and interviews to conduct."

"How about this morning you just focus on Peter?" Alice suggested. "As for the rest, I intend seeing to it you get the help you need." At his look of alarm, she raised a hand. "Rosalie is always looking for employment for the older girls leaving the orphanage, so I am sure she could find us some suitable helpers for the kitchen and to watch Peter while you are working."

Mr Whitlock opened his mouth, but Alice silenced him with a look. "I am aware you can't afford to pay wages, but I already spoke to Isabella about your need for extra household staff. She was in complete agreement and assured me Edward will be happy to cover costs. In fact, I am going to ask him to find you a secretary or assistant to help with the estate management side of things as well. It is obvious you have far too much on your plate."

Mr Whitlock sputtered a protest, the colour draining from his cheeks.

"I know, I know." Alice crossed her arms. "You don't like it that I went behind your back, but I _had_ hoped to get this sorted in a way that wouldn't wound your fragile male pride. Unfortunately, current circumstances don't allow for tiptoeing, so you will just have to grin and bear the interference and _graciously_ accept the help. Agreed?"

He stared at her for a long moment, his brows lowered, but Alice refused to be cowed. She raised her chin, and he eventually released a drawn-out sigh.

"Agreed, Miss Brandon, though you must admit you have 'trumped' me in the meddling department."

"All's fair in love and war, Mr Whitlock," she said, her smug smile replaced with a stricken look when she realised what she had said.

" _Love_ and war?" Mr Whitlock's eyes darkened, and he caught hold of her hand, refusing to let go when she gave a panicked tug.

"It is just an expression." She looked around wildly, worried they had been overheard. But Edith was still resting, Peter was looking at the picture book she had found for him earlier, and the door to the cottage was closed, protecting them from the prying eyes and ears of the village.

"It is an apt expression, as you and I were once combatants"—he leaned down to whisper close to her ear—"but we are not anymore." He pressed his lips to her cheek before meeting her shocked gaze. "I won't fight you on this, Miss Brandon. In fact, I am grateful for your interference. Just remember, if you are ever in need of assistance you can come to me, day or night."

Once again, she was left alone to stare at her closed door after he had picked up Peter and departed.

Just as Alice hoped, Rosalie was the perfect person to approach about extra staff for Mr Whitlock. She eagerly agreed to arrange for some older girls from the orphanage to come and work for him on a trial basis. Alice thought the vicar's middle daughter's enthusiasm for the task was a tad excessive and, not for the first time, she wondered if the pretty, golden-haired girl was holding a candle for the officer-turned-estate manager. Rosalie was now an heiress, of sorts, being the sister-in-law to a wealthy viscount who had granted her an allotment of ten thousand pounds. The sum generated five hundred pounds a year, making her no small catch.

But Mr Whitlock didn't strike Alice as wanting to marry for expediency. It would be different if he had feelings for the girl, but he had kissed Alice, not Rosalie, after the ball.

Not wanting to examine her thinking, or motives, too closely, Alice ignored her relief over discounting Rosalie as a suitable bride for Mr Whitlock and focused on seeing to his more immediate needs. The estate manager's residence allowed for the housing of only a few servants, but both Mr Wickers and Billy, the stable-cum-general hand, continued to reside nearby at their homes in the village. There would be room for Jillian and Mary, the two orphan girls Rosalie recommended, to share a room next to Mrs Carter in the modest servants' quarters behind the kitchen.

After a quick trip up the hill to explain the situation to Edward and Isabella, Alice was pleased to inform Mr Whitlock that the funding for his new staff had been approved, along with an increase in his salary to cover the extra household expenses they would generate.

"You don't do things by halves, do you Miss Brandon?" Mr Whitlock rubbed his bristled jaw.

She understood that his pride made it difficult for him to accept her interference, and she was relieved when he made no attempt to reject the assistance she had procured. It was a genuine pleasure to be able to do something on his and Peter's behalf, but before she could say as much, Edward arrived to discuss hiring an assistant to help with the running of the estate. While Alice was glad Edward was acting decisively on Mr Whitlock's behalf, she would have preferred if the two of them been granted a few more moments alone. Not that she intended saying anything to him of a personal nature, of course. The feelings they had expressed could not be acted upon and were best forgotten.

Over the next few days, Alice focused on caring for an ever-weakening Edith. She left the cottage only to check on Peter and give him his medicine in Mrs Carter's absence, leaving the other herbalists to work in the emporium and see to patients in their homes. Despite her preoccupation with her aunt's failing health, if she was honest, "forgetting" what happened between her and Mr Whitlock was easier said than done. The memory of his heated kisses and passionate caresses kept coming to the forefront of her mind.

"Thinking about that young man of yers again?" Edith asked in a reedy voice, some three days after the christening ball.

"He is not _my_ young man." Alice avoided her aunt's gaze and fussed with the blankets keeping her warm.

"I think 'e could be if ye wanted 'im to, lass. I saw the way 'e looked at ye when ye was all gussied up to go dancing. Even before that, 'is gaze followed ye around the room like 'e was a pirate and ye were in possession of the treasure map leading to a chest of gold bullion."

Alice burst out laughing. "Whatever has Tanya been reading to you?" The vicar's youngest daughter had taken to dropping by in the afternoon and sitting with Edith. "I should have told her not to include any of her silly adventure tales."

"They're not silly, they're fun. Something _you_ could do with a little more of, if ye ask me." Edith patted the bed for Alice to sit beside her. "Do ye think Mr Whitlock might be up for some fun? 'e's a 'andsome fellah, I'll give ye that."

Alice's blush threatened to set her cheeks on fire. "Auntie!" she whispered even though there was no one else around to hear.

"What?" Edith eyed her pointedly. "Don't tell me ye 'aven't considered it, unless . . . ooh, do tell? 'ave the two of ye already 'ad some _fun_?"

Alice hid her burning face with her hands. "Maybe." She peeked at her aunt from between her fingers. "He kissed me in the carriage on the way home from the christening ball."

"A kiss? 'ow wonderful." Edith smiled and reached to pat Alice's shoulder. " _Please_ tell me it was more than just a peck."

Alice groaned and dropped her hands into her lap. "If you must know, it was decidedly passionate."

"I am glad to 'ear it," Edith said firmly before succumbing to a fit of coughing.

Lifting her up from the pillow, Alice cradled her aunt's frail body until the paroxysms ceased. Then she held a glass to Edith's trembling lips while she took a sip of water. When she was done, Alice laid her head back on the pillow, blinking back tears.

"You are not shocked to hear I kissed Mr Whitlock?" She deliberately returned to the topic that had cheered her aunt since there was nothing she could do about her failing health.

"Happy," Edith whispered. "Want ye to live life to the full."

"Oh, Auntie." Alice choked back a sob. "What will I do without you?"

"Ye'll be fine. Just promise me ye won't push that young man away after I'm gone? If 'e offers more than a kiss, ye take 'im up on it. Ye 'ear me?"

Alice patted Edith's gnarled fingers while taking a moment to compose herself and marshal her thoughts. "Marriage isn't really an option for either of us," she said with a resigned lift of a shoulder.

"Who said anything about marriage?" One corner of Edith's lip curled up in a wry smile while Alice's mouth fell open. "I know what ye're thinking. An old lady who's about to meet 'er maker shouldn't be sayin' such things. But I 'ave come to the conclusion that folks erect a lot of obstacles the good Lord never intended for us to 'ave to climb over. Ye and yer Mr Whitlock are givin' yer all to serve the community, and it don't seem right to me that ye should 'ave to miss out on the chance for a little companionship just 'cos a few narrow-minded folk would take offence."

Alice raised her eyebrows. "A _few?_ "

"Oh, all right." Edith huffed a breath that ended in a painful wheeze. "Maybe more than a few. Ye could always keep it a secret. Wouldn't be anyone's business but yer own."

 _And the good Lord's._

Alice shook her head, more convinced than ever that her aunt's mental faculties were failing along with her body. Rather than becoming forgetful, she appeared prone to the most fanciful of thinking

 **~D &D~**

 **We have my trademark 'slow burn' happening in spades at the moment, and some sad times ahead, I fear, with Aunt Edith's health failing. Here's hoping Peter picks up quickly. Who thinks Alice should take Edith's shocking advice to heart? ;)**

 **Thank you so much to the readers who have also bought copies of Passion and Propriety and Duty and Desire off Amazon and then submitted a review. You guys are incredibly generous and kind. It gives me such a boost whenever I see a review on Amazon, as they are difficult to come by!**

 **I've had a bit of a rough week with my knee playing up and a couple of particularly critical reviews for my other story, Gone Viral, which is getting a tad angsty. I don't mind critical reviews, as if someone feels passionate enough to put into words things that are bothering them about a character or plot, I like to know so I can take it their opinion into consideration. It can still be a bit 'ouchy' though.**

 **Until tomorrow,**

 **xxx Elise**


	17. Yearning

**Thank you all so much for your kind words and support. It has been very much appreciated. I wish I could offer a fun chapter in response, but I'll be honest...this one requires more than a typical *tissue warning*, as if you're anything like me, you're in for a sobfest. :(**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 15**

 **Yearning**

Concluding that her own hindrances to happiness were insurmountable, Alice put her mind to resolving Peter's dilemma, giving the matter of his diet a great deal of thought. What he could eat was certainly limited, and she understood why Mr Whitlock would have concerns regarding his son's future. Going off to boarding school wouldn't be an option, not that it sounded like Mr Whitlock could have afforded the fees. Peter wouldn't be able to accept invitations to dine with others, unless they were willing to take his dietary needs into consideration, and travel would be a problem. But when the alternative was poor health—even the possible loss of his life, though that seemed less likely now he wasn't suffering repeated bloodlettings and purgings—it put the matter into perspective. Still, she didn't like that the lad was being deprived of the culinary treats most children took for granted.

"What about corn?" Edith asked one evening, her voice a mere whisper, while Alice was pondering the issue. "Does that bother the lad?"

"I don't _think_ so." Alice tapped her fingers on the journal propped open on her lap. She had taken to sitting on the bed beside Edith to do her work, not wanting to leave her aunt alone while she slowly weakened. "I shall check with Mrs Carter, but I am fairly certain she adds it to his soups sometimes, and I don't think he has reacted badly. Are you thinking we could try cornflour?"

Edith managed a slight nod.

"That is an excellent idea." Alice hid her concern over her aunt's failing strength behind a bright smile. "If we combine it with the rice flour and maybe some potato starch, as that doesn't seem to bother him either, it might provide a better consistency for baking. I shall suggest Mrs Carter try making some griddle cakes, as Peter misses them. It might cheer him up."

"That boy's lucky to have ye," Edith whispered, her serious gaze capturing Alice's attention. "Ye'll make 'im a good mother."

Alice opened her mouth to refute her aunt's words then decided against it. If indulging in fantasy gave her comfort, who was Alice to deny her?

"I do love him," she admitted in all honesty.

"Aye, and 'is father." Edith nodded as if her statement was a simple fact. "I am goin' to miss ye, dear girl, but I'm glad to know I'm not leavin' ye alone."

Alice didn't argue, but a childlike part of her wanted to plead with her aunt to stay, as if either of them had a say in it. If she had learned anything in her profession, it was that death was an inevitable part of life. Which didn't make it any easier to bear.

Curling up next to her on the bed, Alice wrapped an arm around her aunt's tiny body. Choking back tears, she took comfort from the same gentle strokes of Edith's fingers against her brow that had soothed her so many times over the years.

Alice woke with a start. No hint of morning light peeked past the edges of the curtains. Nor did the sound of a rooster crowing disturb the silence of the night. She waited for a knock at the door, but none came. Once she understood no external factor had roused her from slumber, she turned her head to her aunt's side of their shared bed, instinctively knowing what she would find. She listened intently, but there was only silence. No coughing. No wheeze. No gasped breaths coming after long pauses.

"Auntie?" she whispered, a feeling of dread settling over her like an icy fog. Searching beneath the blankets, she flinched when she came in contact with her aunt's cold fingers.

"Oh, Auntie." Alice's lower lip trembled. Forcing herself to move, she reached for the lantern that sat on the small bedside chest. When the room was softly lit, she looked back to the other side of the bed, the breath leaving her lungs.

Her aunt lay on her back with her eyes closed. She could have been sleeping if not for the almost ashen colour of her skin and the stillness of her chest. Alice stroked her aunt's cool brow, brushing back a silvery lock as a sob rose in her throat. She was tempted to try and force it down, but grief could only be denied for so long. Sometimes shock could delay it, but as saddened as she was by her aunt's passing, Alice wasn't unprepared. Tears welled in her eyes and she let them fall, the pressure in her chest easing as her sobs broke free.

She wept for her aunt, whose life had been full but far from easy. And she wept for herself because, while she had known for a long time her own life was destined to follow a similar path, it was time for her to walk it alone.

When the tears stopped coming, Alice wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she climbed out of the bed and dressed in the sombre gown she would wear for the days of mourning ahead. After brushing her hair and putting it up in a bun, she stoked the fire and put the kettle on to boil, finding comfort in routine. Dawn was still many hours off, but there would be no more sleep for her this night.

After fortifying herself with a cup of tea, Alice reentered the bedroom and approached her aunt's body. She had helped prepare numerous members of the village for burial, an inevitable part of her profession, but she had rarely done it alone and never for someone she loved so dearly. The tears threatened to return as she gently cleaned her aunt's frail and withered form, but this time she managed to hold them at bay. After her aunt was dressed in her favourite gown, her wispy hair neatly coiffed, Alice arranged her body in the position it would hold until it returned to the dust of the earth.

Looking down at the woman who had been surrogate mother, grandmother, mentor, and dear friend, Alice's professional demeanour crumbled. Pain pierced her heart and radiated out until she felt it throughout her entire body, an ache of pure loneliness. Edith had lived a full life and been more than ready to face its conclusion, but how Alice would miss her.

Returning to the front room, she crossed to the window, pushed the curtain aside, and stared into the darkness. She planned to visit the vicar and make arrangements for the funeral service just as soon as the sun rose. The undertaker in Thornlie would need to be contacted so he could deliver the coffin and organise for the digging of her aunt's grave. Isabella would want to cater the morning or afternoon tea customary after a funeral. She would also be keen to comfort Alice, as would the vicar's other daughters and her coworkers and friends from the village. They would be sure to provide her with an abundance of baked goods, which would be a blessing, as she would soon be inundated by visitors, from Forkton and beyond, all wishing to pay their respects to the healer who had cared for many of them since birth.

Alice was grateful for the help she would receive, but if she was honest, there was only one person she wanted comfort from. Before the mourners descended, during these cold, dark hours prior to the dawn, she would have given anything to feel Mr Whitlock's arms around her and to rest her head against his broad chest.

But it wasn't an option.

He had said she could come to him any time if she was in need. But this wasn't a crisis. Her aunt's death was hardly unexpected, and Alice was more than capable of handling what needed to be done.

Still, his help would be invaluable.

She could ask him to send Mr Wickers to Thornlie to speak with the undertaker in her stead, a time-consuming task she wouldn't relish. With winter almost upon them, it was more likely to rain than not. Mr Whitlock would undoubtedly be willing to drive her up to the manor in his chaise to see Isabella and Edward, saving her a probable soaking. Seeking out his support was actually quite sensible, not that anything could be done until daylight.

Then again, he _had_ said she could come day or night.

Alice shuddered, unable to bear the thought of sitting alone in her cottage, waiting for the dawn.

Making up her mind between one ragged breath and the next, she turned away from the window and crossed to where her outer clothes hung on hooks near the door. After pulling on her woollen gloves, she wrapped a scarf around her neck, donned her heavy winter coat, and then checked on her aunt . . . out of habit, she supposed.

"I won't be long," she murmured before slipping out the front door.

The night was dark as pitch, the moon hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds. She wouldn't have been able to see a thing if not for the small circle of light put off by her lantern.

It wasn't the first time Alice had walked the rough, cobblestone roads of the village in the wee hours of the night, but she was usually accompanied by whichever family member had come to ask her help for their sick or labouring relative. It was eerie by herself, and she hugged her coat tightly around her middle to ward off the chill brought on by the cold. When she reached the estate manager's residence, it was cloaked in darkness. Second-guessing her decision to call on Mr Whitlock at this unearthly hour, her footsteps slowed as she walked up the path to his front door. She lifted her hand to knock before letting her fist fall.

She hadn't thought this through.

It wouldn't be fair to rouse the servants, as they had long days ahead of them. And heaven knew what they would think of her appearing at the home of a widowed gentleman in the middle of the night. The reasonable thing would have been to go to the vicarage.

But she didn't want Reverend Swan's comfort. She wanted Mr Whitlock.

With a sigh, Alice turned around and faced the barely visible road that led back to her cottage. It would be all right. She would come back when it was light, at an hour that wouldn't have people questioning her actions. It would be only a few hours, and now was as good a time as any to start getting used to being alone.

A sob erupted from her mouth before she could suppress it. To her dismay, another sob followed, and then another. She covered her mouth with her hand in an attempt to muffle the noise, all the while wondering what had become of her normally stoic façade.

"Miss Brandon? Is that you?"

Alice spun around to find Mr Whitlock standing in the now open doorway, dressed in a long robe and slippers, his hair tousled from sleep. The candle he was holding revealed his stunned expression, and Alice opened her mouth to apologise for disturbing him. But nothing came out, as she couldn't speak past her tears.

"What's happened? Is it your aunt?"

Alice managed a tremulous nod, and he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Come inside." He led her through the door and into the parlour before taking her lantern and setting it on a side table beside his candle. "Here, why don't you have a seat?" He directed her to a comfortable padded chair by the still smouldering fire. "It won't take me long to get a blaze going."

Alice sat perched on the edge of the chair, shivers racking her body—more from her grief than the cold.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," she said from between chattering teeth.

"You didn't." Mr Whitlock twisted to face her from where he was crouched before the fireplace. "I was restless, so I got up to check on Peter. Then I saw a light through the front window and came to investigate. Why didn't you knock?"

"I was going to, then . . ." Alice shrugged helplessly. "You said I could come to you if I needed help, but I didn't stop to consider how it would look."

Mr Whitlock studied her for a moment before turning back to the fire. When it was well alight, he took a seat in the chair next to hers.

"I wouldn't worry. Mrs Carter is the first one up, and I am sure she will understand. We don't have to tell her what time you arrived."

"Oh . . . that's good." Alice nodded as a fresh bout of tears welled in her eyes. "Sorry." She waved a hand in front of her face, feeling pathetic. She couldn't abide simpering females.

Mr Whitlock reached across the space between them and took hold of her hand. "Your aunt has passed away?" he asked, his gaze filled with compassion.

Alice's face crumpled, and her chest began to shake with sobs she had no hope of containing.

"It is all right," he murmured, rising from his seat to kneel in front of her. He spread his hands, leaving the decision up to Alice, and she went willingly into his embrace, letting out a whimper when his strong arms surrounded her and guided her head to rest against his chest. It was just what she had wanted, and she clung to him, taking comfort from his nearness while attempting to keep the sound of her weeping to a minimum.

Finally, she raised her head to meet his worried gaze.

"I have dampened your robe," she said. "I would say I am sorry, but that would make it three times since I arrived, and I find it irritating when people apologise excessively."

His lips quirked. "I wouldn't mind, but it is no bother. I am happy to lend a shoulder any time you need it."

"You are a good friend, Mr Whitlock. I know it was wrong of me to come here in the middle of the night, but you were the only person I wanted to see."

He blinked at her bold admission before lifting a hand to her face and gently wiping the last of her tears away with his thumb.

"I am glad you came to me, Alice."

Her eyes widened at his use of her Christian name.

"Is it all right if I call you that? You are welcome to call me Jasper."

Despite the pummelling it had received, her heart swelled at his offer. "Thank you, Jasper, and I would be glad to have you call me Alice . . . but only when we are alone."

"Of course."

They exchanged a smile—small, muted, and a little sad, but a smile nonetheless.

"We shall have to be careful," he added soberly.

Alice nodded, the movement jerky as if her body wasn't entirely under her control. Her emotions certainly weren't.

"We shall have to keep our distance from one another," she warned, even if it was the last thing she wanted. "When we are in public, at any rate."

This time his eyes widened, and warmth flooded her cheeks. She didn't want Mr Whitlock, Jasper, to get the impression she was open to or suggesting they engage in dalliance.

Because she wasn't.

Although considering her middle-of-the-night arrival and less-than-cautious declarations, she wouldn't blame him for thinking she was.

"I meant that we'll need to keep our, er, _friendship_ something of a secret." She briefly met his gaze. "Lest we open ourselves up to conjecture."

He kissed her forehead then ducked his head to meet her gaze. "I understand, Alice, and you have nothing to worry about. Despite my behaviour the other night, you can rest assured I hold you in too high esteem to do anything that would risk your reputation, or our friendship."

He returned to his seat, and Alice refused to acknowledge the wave of disappointment that came over her at his words. It didn't say much for her character that while in the midst of grieving for her aunt, she had contemplated asking him for another kiss.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked. "Or a brandy?"

"I am fine for now." She managed a wan smile. "Unless you would like something?"

"I can wait until morning." He sat forward, angling his chair so he could take her hands in his again. "If you're feeling up to it, why don't you tell me about your aunt? I know when I lost my brother, it helped to talk about him, and I am sure you've got lots of stories."

It was just what she needed, and Alice filled the time until dawn talking about Edith. She cried some more, but she also laughed, and it felt good for her heart to relive those happy memories.

Not long before Mrs Carter was due to rise, Jasper excused himself to go and dress for the day. When he returned, looking his usual dapper self, he led her to the kitchen, making it seem like Alice had just arrived when Mrs Carter joined them. The housekeeper's words of sympathy and warm embrace set off another bout of Alice's tears, and she resigned herself to be a watering pot for the next little while. Peter's excitement at finding her in his kitchen brought a smile to her lips, though his dismay at hearing that her aunt— _the crinkly lady with the lollies—_ had died caused her throat to tighten once more.

"That's sad," he said, his big blue eyes shining. "Is that why your face is puffy, Miss Brandon, 'cos you've been crying?"

Alice nodded, and he climbed into her lap. Jasper moved to stop him, but she waved him away, appreciating the feel of Peter's warm body nestled in her lap. He was such a dear little lad, and a small, traitorous part of her couldn't help wishing he were hers.

Jasper wisely kept a respectable distance over the ensuing days, and if anyone questioned the efforts he went to on her behalf, or the way he tended to hover in the background, they didn't say. Ignoring the yearning she felt to be near him, Alice took what comfort she could from his actions—one in particular that others might find curious.

He stopped shaving, allowing his beard to regrow.

"A dear friend of mine prefers it that way," she overheard him say once when he was questioned about it.

She had waited until no one was watching then thanked him with a smile.

 **~D &D~**

 **Gah! I wept when I wrote this three years ago, and I wept reading it again. Seriously, writing fanfic is better than therapy or grief counselling. Anyone else have a relative they miss even after years have passed? It's been 13 years since I lost my beloved gran, the 'Edith' from this story, three months before I lost my equally beloved mum. I'm not actively grieving anymore, but I do miss them both, some days more than others.**

 **Happier times ahead, I promise.**

 **See you all tomorrow.**

 **xxx Elise**


	18. Gentleman

**Thank you for sharing all your wonderful, poignant stories about family members you have lost and missed. I was amazed by how many of us have grandparents or parents who lived into their nineties.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 16**

 **Gentleman**

Jasper made sure not to stand too close to Alice at her aunt's funeral, but it galled. A light drizzle had begun to fall, and despite the fact she was surrounded by her friends and fellow mourners, she looked cold and alone. He wanted to comfort her openly and protect the woman he loved from both circumstance and the elements. If he'd had his way, she would have been tucked against his side with his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Of course, such an overt display of affection wouldn't have been acceptable in public, not even if they were wed. The most he could have done for her, if she had been his wife, would be to offer his arm. At a push, he could let her lean against him if her grief should overwhelm her. But in the eyes of their local society, he was a mere acquaintance of Miss Brandon, unrelated by blood or marriage and permitted no such liberties. Hell, he couldn't even call her his friend—not without raising eyebrows.

And God forbid _tonnish_ brows should be raised.

If there was one thing Jasper's father had instilled in him, it was the importance of protecting one's social standing. No matter what occurred behind closed doors or might be roiling in the heart of a gentleman, appearances must be maintained. Rank and circumstance counted above all else and, in what Jasper had always considered a contradiction, individuals were to be judged by their position in society, irrespective of the character they displayed. One must kowtow to one's superiors and lord it over one's inferiors regardless of their worthiness, lest the natural order be compromised.

Having experienced both sides of the divide, first as a gentleman and an officer and now as an employee, Jasper had come to question the class structure that ruled the lives of all Englishmen. He felt a growing resentment for its restrictions and a burgeoning inclination to refuse to pander to its bias. Outright rebellion wasn't an option, as he had his son's future to consider. The poor lad was destined to have a difficult enough time finding his place as it was. Then there were Jasper's mother and sister, who continued to subject themselves to standards they could no longer afford to meet.

In the midst of the chaos of the last ten days, Jasper had found the time to write his mother an honest account of his financial situation. The news would not be welcomed, but it was time she faced facts. His brother could not be relied upon, with even the London residence at risk from his gambling. Harold had cost him enough, and Jasper refused to be encumbered with debts he had not incurred and had no way of covering. His mother and sister were welcome to come and stay with him—an invitation he hoped his mother would accept for Penny's sake. Jasper was prepared to work day and night, if necessary, to house, clothe, and feed his family, but they would have to accept a reduction in lifestyle . . . just as he'd had to.

The recent increase in salary Alice had negotiated for him was already earmarked to pay for his expanded retinue of staff. On a positive note, he imagined the presence of more than just a housekeeper would encourage his mother to consider his offer. Though why he was so eager for her to agree was a mystery. He supposed it was because he could see no other choice, no point in delaying the inevitable. The transition period while the dowager baroness adjusted to her newly constrained circumstances was sure to be unpleasant. He just hoped she wouldn't be rude to Alice. Maybe if he stressed Alice's role in Peter's salvation his mother would condescend to overlook her parentage. He could also point out that it was on Alice's behalf he had acquired a carriage and driver, and that if it hadn't been for her intervention he wouldn't be blessed with his new household helpers.

What a godsend her meddling had been, he thought as he watched her from across the grave where her aunt had been laid to rest. She looked to be holding on by a thread, her posture stiffly held and her eyes red-rimmed, and he came to a decision. He might not be able to comfort her the way he desired, but when he got the chance he would tell her how much he appreciated her interference. Humbling himself would be a small price to pay to lighten her mood, and he had plenty of experience at bearing up under her goading.

Truth be told, a part of him had enjoyed their altercations even before he had acknowledged how attractive he found her. Becoming friends, more than friends, didn't mean they couldn't indulge in the odd bout of verbal sparring. Though she had occasionally left him floundering, and he could have done without his propensity to blush, it had been invigorating to match wits. Not as much as kissing her or holding her in his arms, of course.

Lord, that had been wonderful. He still couldn't believe he had kissed her, and even more astonishing was that she had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed it, too, even more than he had imagined. Maria had turned her head to the side, mashing her lips together whenever he had made an attempt. He had tried to be understanding, as he had appreciated that his young wife was afraid, but her continued rejection had hurt him. To his amazement, Alice had _asked_ to be kissed. And she had participated fully, her body trembling with passion.

A gentleman should never incite passion in a lady, certainly not one to whom he wasn't wed. Jasper should have been ashamed of what he had done but, damn it, she had kissed him back and hugged him tightly, and if his suspicions were correct, she had liked it so much she had been a little overcome. He envied her, as he wouldn't mind being overcome himself . . . not alone, though he supposed it was better than nothing, but in Alice's company.

Heaving a sigh, Jasper scolded himself for allowing his thoughts to wander into such dangerous territory. Her aunt's funeral was neither the time nor place.

A quick glance towards the Reverend Swan reassured him the good Lord hadn't judged Jasper for his inappropriate musings by making the vicar privy to his thoughts. If he had been, the man's countenance would have been outraged rather than sombre.

After the final prayers and eulogies had been spoken, Jasper waited for the bulk of the mourners to depart. Only then did he approach Alice next to her aunt's grave, with Isabella not far from her side.

"I am sorry for your loss, Miss Brandon. You have my heartfelt commiserations." He took the opportunity when offering his condolences to give Alice's fingers a gentle squeeze. That she gripped his far more firmly in return and did not let go was not lost on him.

"Thank you, Mr Whitlock." Her lower lip trembled, and she took a breath before continuing. "Will you be staying for afternoon tea in the church hall, or must you return home to Peter?"

"I am in no rush as, thanks to you, he is well supervised."

"And on the mend? I am so sorry I haven't been up to check on him these last few days. It is just that I have been busy with preparations—" Alice's voice broke, and it took all of Jasper's self-control not to wrap her in his embrace.

"Please don't worry. Peter is getting better by the day." Aware they were being watched, he reluctantly withdrew his hand. "He sent his regards and a request that you visit as soon as possible for tea. Mrs Carter has been cooking up a storm with that new flour mix you suggested, and she has managed some quite edible scones."

"I am glad to hear it. Please tell Peter I shall visit shortly."

"You will be very welcome," he said, and Alice managed a tremulous smile. Jasper returned it while making a respectful bow, one that brought his mouth closer to her ear. "Any time," he added in a whisper.

Before she could respond, Isabella linked her arm with Alice's.

"Come along, Alice. Mr Whitlock has monopolised your attention for long enough." She gave him a puzzled look. "There are others wishing to speak with you, but I have directed them to head down to the hall, as it looks like it could start raining again at any moment."

"Yes, of course." Alice glanced at Jasper then allowed herself to be led away. Having no other choice, he let her go, but he couldn't resist following her with his gaze as she walked down the path from the cemetery.

"I am glad to see you and Alice have finally called a truce."

Jasper hadn't seen Edward's approach, and he startled when the big man clapped him on the shoulder.

"Yes, well . . ." He struggled to find a suitable answer. "It seemed the thing to do, with our being godparents and all."

"Not to mention she saved your son's life. You don't deny it, do you?"

"Good God, no!" Jasper turned to face his friend after Alice disappeared from sight. "I shall gladly admit I was wrong, in every way, about Miss Brandon. As far as I am concerned, the woman's a saint."

"Really?" Edward eyed him curiously. "A paragon of virtue to be kept on a pedestal or worshipped from afar?"

Jasper sputtered. "Well, I . . . I wouldn't go quite that far."

"No, I didn't think so." Edward smirked and then gestured for Jasper to walk with him down the path. "Not with the way you have been looking at her lately. Isabella thinks I am being ridiculous, that it is nothing more than wishful thinking on my part considering how often you two have almost come to blows in the past, but I am half expecting an announcement."

"What?" Jasper halted and grabbed hold of Edward's arm. "Don't be absurd, man. Miss Brandon is not open to being courted, and even if she were, I am in no position to wed. Besides, she is Peter's herbalist, and we practically work together, not to mention being neighbours who occasionally share a carriage. The poor lady is in mourning, and I'll not have you besmirching her reputation based on nothing more than a few friendly glances on my part—"

"Steady on!" Edward held up his hands as if being confronted by highwaymen. "I didn't mean to cause offence, and I certainly wasn't disparaging Alice's reputation. I was merely giving my approval for you to pursue a relationship _if_ that were your intention. She is my wife's best friend, like family. I am the closest thing she has to a male protector, not that I am saying she needs protection."

"Not from me, she doesn't," Jasper said firmly while ignoring an unpleasant sensation in his gut. "I would never do anything to harm Miss Brandon."

"Of course, you wouldn't." Edward seemed a bit bewildered by the exchange. "I apologise for misreading the situation."

Ignoring the squawking of his conscience, Jasper accepted with a gruff nod. He might not want to harm Alice, but he couldn't deny he had kissed her in a way that, if it were to become known, would bring ruination upon a lady. Nor could he deny that he dreamed about their kiss, replaying it in his mind in the dark hours of the night.

Then there was the fact that, despite his assuring her she had nothing to fear from him, he would give almost anything to be able to kiss her again.

~D&D~

Jasper's shoulders hunched in a vain attempt to ward off the cold. After riding for nearly two hours, the biting wind cut through his oilcloth cloak like it was tissue paper. That the blasted thing was both weighed down and dampened by a goodly fall of snow wasn't helping matters.

His weary horse stumbled, and he tightened his hold on the reins. The last thing either of them needed was a fall, but it was deuced difficult to make out the road in the darkness. At least they had made it to the village without getting lost.

He should have been home hours ago, but his visit to the recently reopened mine near Fulbright had taken much longer than he had expected. A little more than a year past, just prior to his arrival in the district, an explosion had wreaked havoc on the poorly maintained structure. Lives had been lost, good men and boys, and Jasper was determined there wouldn't be a repeat on his watch. Unfortunately, it appeared that someone had other ideas, as his inspection had uncovered evidence of unauthorised activity in an abandoned shaft. Signs pointed to several small, controlled explosions, but Jasper wasn't sure what the trespassers hoped to achieve. It was a nickel mine, the ore needed for the production of steel for the military but of little value in small quantity. The possibility that French saboteurs were at work seemed unlikely, as far more damage could have been easily wrought. No. His guess was an individual was behind it, though what they were up to was anybody's guess.

"Almost home," he murmured, patting his horse's neck and peering through the swirling flurries of icy white. An unexpected glow appeared out of the darkness, and he frowned at the realisation the light was coming from Alice's cottage. It was late, very late, and she should have been tucked safely in her bed. He suspected from the dark rings under her eyes he had seen the day she had come to visit Peter that sleep was eluding her, and here was his proof. He hated to think of her sitting all alone in the middle of the night, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Or was there?

While he appreciated his new staff and the much-needed help they provided, the drawback to their presence in his home was a considerable reduction in privacy. Time spent alone with Alice when she came to visit Peter wasn't the same as it had once been. Someone was always hovering, and their discourse was more constrained than it had been previously.

If he were to visit her in her own home, especially at this late hour when the rest of the village was asleep, there would be no one to watch them or judge the nature of their relationship. As he had told Edward, he had no intention of disrespecting Alice, he only wanted to comfort her.

Nothing more.

He certainly wasn't planning on kissing her again . . . unless she wanted him to.

After stabling and feeding his horse, Jasper stood in the doorway to the stable and stared out into the stormy night. It was almost midnight. He was tired from the long ride that had followed an even longer day, and his bones ached from the cold. A sensible man would seek his bed. But, as he had already admitted to Alice, he was anything but sensible where she was concerned.

Ten minutes later, he stood outside her front door. Light still glowed dimly through the curtains at the front window of the cottage, assuring him she had not retired for what was left of the night. What he was less sure of was whether she would welcome his visit or rebuke him for coming to her home at such an unacceptable hour. Knowing there was only one way to find out, he raised his hand and knocked . . . softly, so as not to alarm her.

Not many seconds passed before the door opened and Alice peered through the crack. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Mr Whitlock? Come inside before all the heat escapes."

He slipped through the narrow opening before closing the door behind him.

Alice was dressed in a long nightgown with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and her long dark hair hanging in a single braid down the middle of her back. He watched, mesmerised, while she crossed to her kitchen bench and began gathering supplies then placed them in the bag she used when visiting patients.

"I had so hoped Peter was on the mend. Has Mrs Carter run out of his medicine?" She glanced over her shoulder at Jasper, her eyes filled with concern. "Please tell me he is not seriously ill."

Jasper was so taken by her appearance he had momentarily been rendered mute. "Peter is well," he rushed to assure her, angry with himself for causing her worry.

Her frown turned to one of puzzlement. "Is someone else in the household ill? Who is it? What are the symptoms?"

"Everyone is well, as far as I know." Jasper crossed the room to stand before her. "I have not been home since this morning, but all was perfectly fine when I left."

"Then why are you here? It is the middle of the night." Her words could have been rebuking, but her gentle tone gave him hope his visit was not unwelcome.

"I was riding home, and I saw your light," he admitted with a shrug. "I was worried, and I came to check on you."

"Oh." Her expression softened before she looked to the door in alarm. "Is your horse outside? Did anyone see you?"

"No. There's no need to fret." He caught hold of her elbow, holding her still when she would have gone to look out the window. "I walked down the hill after stabling my horse."

"And you are sure no one saw you?"

"Positive," he said firmly. It wasn't difficult to imagine the rumours that would circulate if he was seen visiting her this late at night. Wanting to reassure her further, he added, "Only a fool would be out in this weather."

"I see." The corner of Alice's cupid lips tipped up. "And what does that make you?"

"I would have thought that was obvious."

He took a cautious step closer, giving her ample opportunity to back away. She didn't.

Facing him, she raised a hand and placed it on his chest. "Are you saying you're a fool?"

"For you, dear Alice? Most definitely."

Her mouth dropped open. So, did his, as he was equally shocked by his declaration. He had convinced himself his motives for visiting were honourable, but with the blood pounding in his veins, that clearly wasn't the case. It was more than comfort he wanted to give her. It was his heart.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.

"I'll leave if you want."

She looked torn, pained, and his sense of decency returned in a rush.

"I am sorry, Alice. I just came to see if you were all right. Honestly, I wasn't expecting anything more, it is just being alone with you . . ." He closed his eyes, imprinting upon his consciousness the image of her standing before him in little more than her nightgown. "I shall leave." He turned away without looking at her, fearing it would be impossible otherwise. But she caught hold of his arm, fixing him in place with her touch.

"I am not my mother," she said, and he jerked around to face her. "I am not an impressionable young girl, naïve about the ways of the world and ripe for seduction."

"No, of course not." He hadn't thought that for a moment and hated that she had felt compelled to make the comparison. "You are a mature woman, Alice. Capable. Remarkable. You have my utmost respect, and I promise I have no intention of taking advantage—"

"Then stay."

Her words shocked him to silence.

"Stay?" he uttered hoarsely when his wits had returned.

"Yes. Come and sit." She led him to the sofa where Peter had spent the night a little over a week prior. "I shall make us a cup of tea, and we can talk awhile. I could do with the company."

"Company. Talk. Tea."

Reduced to single-word sentences, he could hardly blame her when she chuckled. He shook his head, aware his ears were probably glowing. At least the light was dim, and his infernal blush shouldn't be too obvious. After removing his overcoat, he draped it over a rickety dining chair. Then he watched while she bustled around her tiny kitchen, preparing their tea before placing it on a small table within easy reach of the settee.

She took a seat beside him, seeming unperturbed that their thighs were touching. Wanting to prove his promise of neighbourly concern was genuine, he ignored his body's response to her nearness and focused on drinking his tea. That his hand trembled when he put the cup down was neither here nor there. But he determined it was a good thing he wasn't still sipping the rich brew when she broke the silence, as he feared he would have sprayed it across the room.

"I wouldn't mind adding to that list of yours," she said, her tone conversational. "Company, tea, talk, and maybe a good-night kiss?"

"Alice." Jasper shook his head again, this time in mild rebuke. "How am I supposed to behave like a gentleman when you say such provocative things?"

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes dark and fathomless in the dim light of the lantern. "Maybe I don't want you to behave like a gentleman. Maybe I want a . . . lover."

 **~D &D~**

 **Well, well, well. I think Jasper's bravery in coming to visit Alice has inspired her to be courageous, or maybe she's just been dwelling on Aunt Edith's advice. I like this Jasper. He was such a stick-in-the-mud to start with, but he's got a good heart underneath. A few reviewers mentioned that they have enjoyed getting to know Alice, as beneath her no-nonsense demeanour, she also has a tender heart.**

 **Thank you all so much for your kindness, support, and lovely reviews. Unfortunately, my knee is still giving me a very hard time, but I am getting a crazy amount of writing done. Now I just need both the stories I'm working on (this one which only requires 'twilighting' and Gone Viral which I'm writing from scratch) to move past their angsty stages, and we can all enjoy a blessed reprieve! :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **Pictures on my Facebook Group Page - Elise de Sallier's Stories.**


	19. Compromise

**Most of you were surprised by Alice's proposal, a few were disappointed, and many were downright thrilled. Then there were those who think that Jasper will never agree...and may have collapsed from the shock! To those who can't understand why they don't just marry (the fairly obvious solution), all I can say is that mindsets are hard to break and blind-spots are difficult to recognize when beliefs have been long-held.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 17**

 **Compromise**

Alice resisted the urge to hunch her shoulders while awaiting Jasper's response. His mouth opened and closed several times before he finally managed to sputter, "A lover?"

His shock was understandable, but she couldn't bring herself to recant. Being cast from her home after she had barely crossed the threshold into womanhood had forged steel into her spine. Along with a well-developed degree of independence, she was not lacking in courage, although it was usually tempered with common sense.

In her grief and loneliness, it appeared she had thrown off all restraint. She blamed Edith and her outrageous notion that Alice could somehow continue in her profession without depriving herself of an intimate relationship. It was fantastical, an impossibility. Unfortunately, it was also awfully tempting.

"Is the idea so very ludicrous?" she asked, an uncharacteristic hesitancy to her tone.

"Well . . . yes." Jasper ran a shaking hand through his already wind-tousled hair, eyeing her with bemusement. "You can't possibly mean it, can you? No, of course you can't. You're upset . . . not thinking straight. The risks—"

"Are substantial, I know, but whom better to manage them than a woman with my knowledge and skills?" There were herbs she could take to suppress fertility, though at her relatively young age they were unlikely to be entirely effective. But once she had become accustomed to the sexual act she could insert a vinegar-soaked sponge, a generally reliable method for preventing conception. "Of course, initially, I would need _you_ to take responsibility, to exercise caution . . . if you were agreeable."

"Agreeable?" His mouth dropped open again before he snapped it shut, his cheeks turning a shade of crimson that was visible even in the dull light. His gaze dropped to her breasts, lingering like a caress, before lowering to her waist and thighs then jerking up to meet her widened eyes. The desire evident in the angular lines of his face strengthened Alice's resolve, as it seemed obvious he wanted her as much as she did him.

"We are mature adults, neither expecting more than the other can give," she continued, her voice reasonable-sounding despite the rapid elevation of her pulse and quickening of her breath. "With forethought, the risks could be mitigated, and if we remove the chance of an unwanted confinement, what harm is there?"

"What harm?" Jasper squeaked before lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. "While I won't deny I am tempted, almost beyond measure, we must consider the risks. Your reputation would be destroyed. Mine, also."

Alice huffed a breath. "Nobody expects a widowed gentleman to remain celibate for the rest of his days."

"Maybe not, but they won't turn a blind eye to my taking advantage of the village's beloved herbalist, a maiden one at that. You would lose the respect of your patients, and I would lose my position." A tick appeared in his cheek. "Believe me when I say that _neither_ of us can afford the scandal."

"There wouldn't _be_ a scandal if we were discreet."

"But Edward and Isabella—"

"Could _never_ know," she said, matching his intensity. "Nor the Reverend Swan, so you couldn't go confessing in a moment of weakness brought on by misguided guilt."

"Misguided?" Jasper tilted his head to the side. "You are best friends with a vicar's daughter, and you don't consider fornication a sin?"

Alice's shoulders slumped, and she stared down into her tea. Most gentlemen wouldn't be bothered by such concerns, her father a prime example. But Jasper wasn't the sort to callously ruin a young lady, force himself upon a serving girl, or even keep a mistress—if he had been able to afford one. He was probably one of those rare gentlemen who had kept himself pure for his marital bed.

Or perhaps not.

Isabella _had_ mentioned Edward going to his friend for advice on preventing conception when he had wanted to consummate their marriage without risking her life. Apparently, Jasper had been quite the expert on a subject with which he should have had little knowledge if he had been a virgin groom. He _must_ have had prior experience; but even if that wasn't the case, he had at least had the chance to marry once, plus he had the option of doing so a second time. Whereas Alice couldn't imagine ever finding someone like him again—someone she cared for, desired, and also trusted.

"Alice?" he prompted, and she reluctantly met his gaze.

"I suppose you are right," she said. "But I can't help thinking that spending one's entire life without ever knowing love or physical intimacy is a greater evil than engaging in intercourse outside of wedlock."

Nodding slowly, he appeared to give her words consideration. She sat forward, waiting for his response, but the minutes stretched, the only sound the faint crackle of the kitchen stove and the ticking of the old wall clock.

Suggesting they enter into an illicit relationship had been too much to ask of an honourable man but, while embarrassed by his rejection, it was disappointment rather than shame that welled within her. The tears that had remained stubbornly close to the surface since Edith's death pricked the back of Alice's eyes, and she breathed deep in hopes of warding them off. Fearing her efforts would prove futile, she braced herself to ask Jasper to leave, even though it was the last thing she wanted.

He had come to mean so much to her, and she would be devastated if she had damaged their friendship beyond repair. She hoped he would attribute her suggestion to the irrationality of grief. Such an interpretation wouldn't be strictly accurate, as she had already begun to consider the possibility of their engaging in dalliance before her aunt's death. In her defence, she doubted she would have broached the topic if he had not come upon her in a moment of weakness.

"I think it would be best if you left," she said in a small, trembling voice.

"Not yet." He surprised her by taking her teacup from her hands and putting it aside. Taking hold of her shoulders, he angled her to face him. "Not until we talk this through."

"What is there to say?" She searched his eyes for judgement or disdain.

"Firstly, that I agree with your sentiment. Going one's entire life without experiencing love _would_ be a travesty."

"And physical intimacy? Or are gentlemen the only ones permitted to indulge outside of marriage?"

"Permitted by whom?"

Alice shrugged. "Maybe not the church, but society certainly turns a blind eye to male indiscretion. It is common knowledge that gentlemen seek solace elsewhere if their conjugal needs aren't being met."

"Not _all_ gentlemen." Jasper sat up straighter. "I was never unfaithful to my wife, and since being widowed I have had little time and even less inclination to seek, er . . . _solace_."

Releasing her, he rubbed the back of his neck. While Alice appreciated he might be discomforted by the topic, she refused to be dissuaded from pursuing it.

"What about _before_ you were wed? I don't imagine there are too many gentlemen who refrain from sowing their wild oats prior to submitting themselves to the bonds of matrimony."

Jasper flinched and looked away, confirming her suspicions, but Alice took no comfort from being proven right. It felt like a betrayal, which was patently ridiculous, since she was in the process of trying to convince him to lower his ethical standards on her behalf.

"It was only a couple of times," he said, his voice low and his head bowed. "Before we went into battle for the first time, some of my fellow officers talked me into going with them to . . ."

"A brothel?" she finished for him.

He nodded. "I was young and full of bluster, so I didn't take much convincing, but the experience didn't live up to my expectations. I found it rather impersonal and, well, sordid, to be honest. I only went the second time as I thought the fault must lie with me, and I suppose it did. I discovered I wasn't the type to find enjoyment from engaging in meaningless relations. I had hoped my marriage would be more satisfying but . . ." He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and stared at his hands clasped between them.

A surge of shame flushed Alice's cheeks, and she regretted forcing his confession. It appeared that some experiences were worse than none at all.

"Do you think you would enjoy intimate relations more with someone you cared for, someone who cared for you in return?" she asked.

Groaning, Jasper let his head fall forward. Then, twisting to the side, he looked up at her through his lashes. "Alice, kissing you the other night was the most sensual experience of my life." He sat up and faced her, his chest expanding as he drew in a deep breath. "Our becoming lovers would be a dream come true. The mere possibility keeps me awake until the wee hours. That's why I was up the night your aunt died, as I couldn't sleep for thinking about kissing you . . . holding you in my arms."

"I see," she whispered, gratified to know she wasn't alone in her desires but unsure how else to respond. His words had increased the depths of her longing to an unbearable degree, but she feared his reservations would prevent him from acting upon them. Her body ached for him even, as her heart felt like it was on the verge of breaking.

"But you won't lie with me, even though I am asking?"

Jasper's eyes blazed, his bristled jaw clenching. "It would be different if we were wed, but without having said the vows, our souls would be at risk."

"And yours wasn't when you visited those brothels? When you paid to lie with women you didn't even know?"

Jasper sighed, his expression becoming rueful. "I was young and thoughtless, facing possible death on the battlefield and more afraid of dying a virgin than eternal judgement." His lips twisted into a wry smile. "Now I'm a father, and I am afraid of doing anything that would jeopardise my son's future, in this life or the next."

"You think God would punish Peter for your actions?"

He shrugged. "That does seem rather ludicrous, but 'the sins of the father' and all that. After Edward's experience, I don't want to take any risks. Plus, I am trying to be a man my son can look up to, unlike my father who, true to _tonnish_ expectations, made an art form out of hypocrisy."

"Oh." It was Alice's turn to hang her head. "You think being with me would be shameful."

"No, sweetheart." He caught hold of her chin and gently directed her to look at him. "I think it would be wondrous. I am just trying to do the right thing."

The right thing.

Alice thought about that for a moment, placing her hand over his where it cupped her cheek. She had been born out of wedlock, condemned by many for a sin committed by her parents. Her mother had paid a steep price for being young and naïve, whereas her father had been barely inconvenienced by the consequences of his actions. He had done the decent thing and taken Alice into his home when her mother died, as many men wouldn't have bothered, but that had been the extent of his care. She had been left in the hands of a governess while being put to good use helping to raise her younger siblings. Her father hadn't given any thought to providing for her in the event of his death.

Jasper carried the burden of his brother's wastrel ways, having lost both his inheritance and his place in society. Now he was responsible not only for his son, but for his mother and sister.

They had both been forced to make the most of situations not of their creation, leaving neither of them in a position to marry. Was it right that they should have these feelings for one another and be unable to act upon them? There must be another way.

"What if we were secretly wed?" She raised a hand when he opened his mouth to interject. "No, hear me out. I may be simplifying things a tad, but in the Old Testament, the man took the woman of his choosing into his tent to live with him, and they were as good as married. Not to mention that so-called men of God often had more than one wife, along with handmaidens, concubines, and whomever else they pleased. We are not talking about engaging in wholesale debauchery, and I am sure we could commit to being faithful to one another. We would just have to keep the arrangement a secret, so we both could continue to meet our community and familial obligations."

"But we wouldn't _be_ sharing a tent, or any sort of abode." Jasper dropped his hand from her face and slowly shook his head. "The only time we could spend together would be in secret. Is that the sort of relationship you want?"

"It would be better than none at all."

Jasper slowly exhaled, but the light shining in his eyes gave Alice hope he was considering her proposal.

"It would be enough for you?" he asked after a moment. "A private agreement?"

Alice shrugged a shoulder, and her shawl slipped to her waist. "It would be more than I had ever hoped for," she said. "Would it be enough to assuage your conscience? To alleviate your fears of eternal judgement?"

Her faith had been somewhat renewed in recent times by the miracles in Isabella's and Edward's lives and those of their babies, but she struggled to see the world as entirely black and white. Jasper seemed to have more rigid views, and she feared she was asking him to make too great a compromise. She held her breath, waiting, hoping. A smile stretched her cheeks when he began to jerkily nod his head.

"Yes, yes, I could live with that," he said.

The next thing she knew, Alice was being hauled onto his lap and into his arms.

Placing a hand into the middle of her back, he pulled her tight against him, while cupping the back of her head with the other. Then he pressed his mouth to hers and began kissing her with no hint of the awkwardness that had characterised their first attempt two weeks earlier. Alice opened her mouth without hesitation, welcoming his tongue and his taste and his blessed maleness. Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him back with equal fervour.

"Oh, Alice," he murmured when they paused to draw breath. "Do you mean it? Do you really feel as I do?"

"I don't know." She managed a feeble laugh, her senses swimming from a combination of his sensual onslaught and sheer relief. "You haven't said how you feel. As I recall, we could barely stand one another not all that long ago."

"Fools," he muttered before quickly amending. "Well, _I_ was a fool. You had every right to view me with repugnance. But you do like me now, don't you?"

Cupping his face with her hands, she pressed her lips softly to his—the first time she had initiated a kiss. "Yes, I like, admire, and respect you in equal measure, Jasper."

He smiled brightly. "I feel the same way about you. I am in awe of your abilities, have the highest regard for your intelligence, and prefer your company above all others. Oh, and did I mention I find you astonishingly beautiful?"

Alice ducked her head, unused to such praise. "It seems our appreciation for one another is mutual."

"Appreciation . . . yes." Jasper's smile faded. "Do you think you might come to feel more one day, maybe even _love_?"

At the vulnerability in his expression she couldn't help thinking that his wife must have been very young and foolish indeed not to appreciate his qualities. Before she could answer, he rushed to add, "It is all right if you don't, as just knowing you desire me is more than I could ever ask for."

"You silly man, I already do love you." She smiled at his shocked expression. "What? You think I would ask for a kiss from a gentleman I merely found agreeable?"

"Oh, sweetheart," he whispered. "Your bravery has put me to shame once again. I should have just told you how I felt, as I love you, too, ardently."

"I am glad to hear it." She kissed him again, a little more firmly this time, and he smiled against her lips. "But I think that is enough talking for now."

Jasper groaned and pulled her body close again. It was the response she had hoped for, but when she felt movement beneath her, Alice's breath hitched. It wasn't his leg, and his hands were nowhere near her hips and certainly not tucked underneath her bottom. He must already have an erection, which wasn't all that surprising since she was similarly aroused . . . just not so obviously. Her breasts felt warm and tingly, and the juncture of her thighs had grown damp. Just thinking about what they were going to do caused the area to pulse, and she moved restlessly on his lap.

"Are you absolutely certain?" he murmured against the crook of her neck. Raising his head, he met her gaze with eyes that were dark and glittering with desire. "It is an important decision, and if you want time to give it further consideration or to prepare yourself—"

"Make love to me, Jasper. I have made up my mind, and I don't want to wait."

"And the risks?"

"It should be safe enough if you withdraw." She had just finished her courses, and while it wasn't a guarantee, many midwives believed the days on either side of a woman's menses were her least fertile—but only if her courses were as regular as clockwork. Alice's were. Jasper looked doubtful, but she wasn't inclined to share the details of her reasoning. Nor did she think they would be welcome. "Trust me, it will be all right, but if you are able to obtain any prophylactics for future use, that would be helpful."

Jasper blinked several times before releasing a short bark of laughter. "You really are the most remarkable woman, Alice Brandon. Although I suppose it is understandable a midwife would be well versed in methods for preventing contraception."

"It comes with the territory," she said with a shrug, her smile fading. "As I recall, you are not without knowledge on the subject."

"Soldiers might not be the most educated of men, but there are some topics they find intriguing. Officers, too, I am afraid." He caught hold of her braid and drew it to rest in front of her shoulder, his fingers stroking the curled ends. "I assure you, I have had little personal experience and none since before Peter was born. Conceived, actually. I am free of disease, if that is a concern."

Alice hadn't thought about it, though she should have, as syphilis and the like were near epidemic amongst returned soldiers, many of whom went on to infect their poor wives. She was glad to know Jasper hadn't been one to indulge to excess. In a way, she would be _his_ first also. That's if they both managed to enjoy the encounter. Uncertainty plagued her, and she bit her lower lip. First times were notoriously unsatisfying, even downright horrid—or so she had heard.

"Are you worried?" He kissed her cheek. "I promise I am telling the truth."

"I don't doubt you." She nuzzled his face with her own, savouring his warmth and the soft bristles of his newly grown beard. "I just don't want to be another disappointment."

"Never." He trailed his fingers along the curve of shoulder he exposed by pushing aside the neckline of her nightgown. "If all you ever granted me was kisses, I would consider myself the most fortunate of men."

"Kisses _are_ lovely." Alice stroked his broad shoulders then down the back of his woollen work coat before reaching the hem. Sliding beneath it, she encountered his undershirt and boldly tugged it free of his trousers to reach the smooth, warm skin beneath. "But so is touching."

"Hmm." Jasper quickly divested himself of his coat then returned to the curve of her neck. He suckled gently, and Alice shivered at the delicious sensation his lips and tongue engendered. One of his hands made a bold exploration of its own, stroking down her side, over her hip, and along her leg, before reaching the hem of her gown. When his fingers roamed beneath, teasing her ankle and calf and thigh, she sat upright. He lifted his head, raising a brow in query.

"Don't stop." She reached for the ties on her nightgown and released them. "I am just giving you easier access. Or would you prefer I removed my gown altogether?"

His shock was palpable, his eyes widening like saucers until they reminded her of Peter's when he was anticipating a sweet.

"You would . . . you would let me see you _naked_?"

"If you wish it. And if you let me see you in return." Alice stifled a smile at his audible gulp, pleased her courage hadn't failed her. Oh, she was nervous, and a little worried about the possible discomfort, but she had heard enough tales—good and bad—to imagine the truth lay somewhere in the middle. She hoped she would be like Isabella and find her first time pleasant enough. Although it was the second and subsequent times her friend liked to boast of, when the word "pleasant" didn't come close to describing the experience.

Jasper stilled his hands and watched avidly as she unlaced the front of her gown, allowing the soft cotton to gape and reveal the inner curves of her breasts.

"Would you—" He swallowed again. "Would you like to retire to the bed?"

Alice frowned and gave it some thought. She had taken to sleeping on the settee after Edith's death, the memories in the bedroom still too strong and painful.

"Could we not do it here this time, or would that be too awkward?" She measured the length of the padded seat with her gaze. "I don't think it would be long enough for you to lie down. What about if we remained sitting with me straddling your lap? I have heard that is quite effective."

Jasper's eyes glazed over, and he stopped breathing altogether with his mouth hanging open. She feared she had shocked him beyond his ability to cope, but there had been method in her madness, as she suspected the position might be less painful for her first time.

"That's all right," she said. "We can go lie on the bed if you would prefer." She went to rise from his lap, but he held her fast.

"No! I mean, yes. Like this. Here. You . . . me." Groaning, he pulled her close again and burrowed his face in her neck. She could feel him prodding her from beneath, and she squirmed on his lap, anticipation coiling within her. Impatient, she tugged at the hem of his shirt, relieved when he obliged her and pulled it and his undershirt off over his head. She gasped loudly, taken aback by the sight of his well-muscled chest with its light spattering of dark-golden curls. It wasn't as if she had not seen a naked man before, but rarely was the sight so pleasant and never had it been so affecting.

Jasper chuckled, not that she blamed him, as she imagined she must look like a child eyeing an entire bowl full of candies with avaricious delight. Her hands explored the path her gaze devoured, and she smoothed her fingers over the smooth planes and ridges of his chest and belly.

"You won't get cold?" she asked, recalling the snowy night and the modest fire blazing in her kitchen stove.

"With you in my arms, I feel as if I have a fire burning from within."

She smiled at his reverently spoken words and met his now sombre gaze.

"What about you?" He tugged her nightgown up until the cloth bunched at her hips, his gaze riveted on her bared legs. "I don't want you to catch a chill."

He had a point, her internal furnace not quite so efficient as the one he described, but with his hands and eyes upon her she was warm enough for the moment. "I can always wrap my shawl around my shoulders if the need arises." She gestured to the crocheted garment lying beside her.

"That is an excellent idea," he whispered and slowly removed her nightgown. She aided him by lifting up so he could slide it out from beneath her bottom, then took the opportunity to straddle his lap at the same time. When her gown was gone, she resisted the urge to duck her head or cover herself, his awestruck expression bolstering her confidence.

"Oh, Alice, you are . . . I am . . . there are no words."

It was her turn to chuckle. Her breasts bounced slightly and captured first his attention, then the caress of his fingers. She froze in place, watching as he weighed the creamy orbs in his palms. When he gently rolled and tweaked her nipples, she cried out as pleasure speared from the hardened peaks to the pulsing pit of her belly.

"You like that?" He sounded uncertain, and she arched her body, a silent plea for him to continue. The action pressed the soft, sensitive flesh at the juncture of her thighs against his groin, sending tremors spiralling up through her. To her dismay, his hands left her breasts to grasp her hips and anchor her in place. But then his lips took the place of his wickedly clever fingers, nuzzling her nipples and caressing the curves of her breasts.

In reward, and because she couldn't help herself, she rocked against him, rubbing herself up and down the hardened length she could feel beneath his breeches. He groaned, long and low, the vibration teasing her nipple before he drew it all the way inside his mouth. Through hooded lids, she watched as he suckled, the sweet tugging sensation robbing her of what little was left of her composure.

Swept up in a sea of passion, she hugged his hips with her knees and rode out the storm. His hands kneaded her bottom, holding her tight against him and increasing the exquisite pressure until it felt like her entire body clenched. The breath caught in her throat, and the muscles in her lower belly and groin tightened until she was a coiled spring of aching desire. A whimper escaped her lips as she waited on the precipice of expectation.

She had heard that a woman could achieve a physical release through intercourse, not unlike the pleasure a man experienced when he ejaculated, but it took a lot more than kissing or caressing for the unlikely event to occur.

Or so she had been told.

Having shared a bed with her aunt these past years, she had not had the opportunity to experiment, but it appeared she was close to discovering the answer to the mystery for herself—with Jasper's help, of course. What he lacked in experience, he clearly made up for in innate skill. Sensing her need, he slipped a hand between them and teased her secret folds with his fingers. Her breath came in harsh pants, her hands gripping tight to his shoulders while he continued to ravish her breasts with his lips and tongue. When he slipped a finger inside her, stroking softly at first, then harder and faster as she pressed against him, the odd, hungry sensation twisted in her belly, reaching an almost unbearable level. Just when she thought she would have to beg him to stop, the tension broke, and pleasure pulsed through her in the most wondrous wave of wanton satisfaction.

 **~D &D~**

 **Heavens, I think it's probably a good thing we get a little break before it is Jasper's turn. *fans self***

 **I've got some exciting news. Today, I worked out how to view my sales on Amazon, and you lovely, generous people have helped me to achieve 130 sales and close to 500 'borrows' from the Kindle Unlimited library. This means, when I eventually receive the royalties, it will be more than enough to pay for my lovely book covers and order three more covers for the other books I am planning to publish. As to those of you who have also taken the time to leave a review on Amazon dot com...thank you so much!**

 **Lastly, the first two books I published, Innocence and Protection, are back up on Amazon but combined into one rather big book called Innocence. I will eventually re-Twific this story also and post it on FFn, but it won't be until later in the year. If you would like to read it sooner, it is only $2.99 USD or FREE if you have a Kindle Unlimited account. I've posted the summary below if you are interested.**

 **xx Elise**

 **Innocence -**

Ignorance is supposed to be bliss, but in Anneliese Barlow's experience, it leads to unwise choices and unnecessarily tragic outcomes . . . and there is nothing blissful about either.

Forced to flee her father's brutal heir, Anneliese masquerades as Lisa Brown, a servant, in the grand country mansion of the Duke of Worthington. Discovering the life of gentility she had known was a virtual fairytale, reality a dark and forbidding place, she faces danger at every turn.

Captivated by the beautiful maid, the Marquis of Marsden, decides the only way to keep Lisa safe is by offering her his protection. With all hopes of returning to her previous station lost, she surrenders her virtue to the man she has come to love. Finding unexpected passion in Nathaniel's arms, her senses are awakened to a world of sensuality she had not known existed . . . a world not without grave risks. If her identity is uncovered, Lisa's innocence won't be the only thing that's lost.

Set in England in 1831, Innocence tells a captivating tale of a young woman's journey from bucolic naivety to less-than-blissful enlightenment. Anneliese's transformation sets her on the path to becoming a champion for girls suffering abuse at the hands of a society who deems them unworthy of notice. An epic romance, Innocence's many twists will keep you turning the page until the very satisfying ending.


	20. Satisfaction

**I'm running late, so I won't waffle on. Thanks for your support!**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 18**

 **Satisfaction**

"Oh my! That was so lovely, I almost fainted!"

Jasper huffed a breath of relieved laughter. Alice had enjoyed his touch. He had brought her pleasure.

Now she lay naked and replete in his arms, with her beautiful green eyes drowsy in the aftermath of her release. She was glorious, and he couldn't believe a woman so lovely, so honest and untainted in her affections, desired him the way she did. Unlike Edward, Jasper's scars weren't visible, but rejection had scored his soul, leaving him equally questioning of his worth. What good were aristocratic features and fashionable colouring when his own wife hadn't wanted him?

But Alice did, unashamedly, and oh, how he wanted her in return.

A last-ditch whimper from his beleaguered conscience suggested the honourable thing would be to call a halt now that she wouldn't be left frustrated and aching with unfulfilled desire. But he didn't think he could deny himself at this late juncture . . . especially not when she began undoing the buttons at the waistband of his breeches.

"Are you sure?" he whispered hoarsely, the brush of her knuckles against his belly sending shudders through him.

"Never more." She briefly met his gaze then looked down, her fingers tracing the sensitive skin covering his erection as it came into view. Unflinching, she caressed him, from the glistening tip, down the rigid length, to encircle the thick base nestled in a bed of dark curls. Since he had become a man, no hands but his own had ever touched him privately. He was mesmerised by the sight of her pale, feminine fingers closing around his width and stroking him.

"Lift up a little?" he said.

She eyed him curiously then obliged, and he pushed his trousers and undergarments down and out of the way. Released from his constraints, his erection sprang upwards, as if straining to reach the treasure that hovered mere inches above. She hummed her approval, and his chest swelled to know she did not find him unappealing. The feel of her bare inner thighs and the soft, damp heat between them as she lowered herself over him was nearly his undoing.

"Are you sure it is safe?"

Alice smiled and nodded, her beautiful breasts swaying. Amazed by her courage, he stared at her, his mouth hanging open.

He had been awestruck before at the sight of nature's bounties—a beautiful sunset, the vastness of the ocean when he had first gone to sea, the Pyrenees mountains—though never more so than when he had first held his son in his arms. Being with Alice was an equally earth-shattering event, one he would never forget so long as he lived.

She moved backwards a little, to continue her exploration, stroking and caressing him without any apparent reservation. She was unafraid but clearly curious, which made sense, he supposed. He imagined she would have seen a naked man before, though probably not in such a state of rampant arousal.

A pearly drop escaped his tip, but when she would have touched it, he stilled her with his hand. "You had best stop," he said in a voice so deep and gruff it was more a growl. She looked up at him through her lashes, one arching brow raised slightly higher than the other. "If you keep touching me, I'll finish before we begin. As it is, I doubt I shall last very long."

"Oh." Rather than releasing him, she raised up again, positioning his length beneath her. "Like this?" she asked, an understandable hint of timidity exposed by the trembling of her lower lip.

"Yes." He nodded then quirked a brow. "Well, I assume so."

"You have never done it this way before?"

He shook his head, and her smile returned, a beguiling mix of coy and smug.

"A first for us both, then."

"Indeed." With one hand gripping her waist to keep her in place, he took hold of his member with the other and stroked it along her slick folds. She gasped, her head falling back, and a satisfied smile teased his own lips. But then he pressed up against her, and her eyes shot open. With her gaze fixed on his and her breath quickening, she began to lower herself upon his shaft.

Warm. Wet. And oh, so tight.

Once more reduced to words of one syllable, Jasper resisted the urge to thrust upwards and instead let her set the pace.

Her smile was soon replaced by a look of concentration, then a wince that he felt like a stab to the heart. She stilled, and his worst fears came to the fore. Would she want to stop altogether? Would she reject him now, even come to hate him for hurting her?

"It is all right," she said between panted breaths. "It is only a minor pain. I just need a minute to adjust."

"Oh, Alice," he murmured before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. He didn't deserve her. Even while experiencing something he knew could be quite traumatising for a woman, she sought to comfort him.

"Take all the time you need, my love." He peppered her mouth and cheeks with more kisses while stroking her back with soothing caresses. With her hands gripping his shoulders, she continued her descent, increment by sweet, torturous increment, until she was impaled upon him. Seated on his lap once more, she rocked a little from side to side and front to back, her inner walls clenching around him as she acclimated to his presence inside her.

With every muscle in his body locked to prevent him from moving, he counted the seconds until she met his gaze.

"Are you well?" he asked, and a shudder of relief coursed through his body at her nod. Lord, she was lovely with her high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and lush red lips curved in an almost triumphant smile. Her face was so very dear to him, and he caressed its contours reverently.

"I love you, Alice," he whispered against her mouth.

"I love you, too."

Her smile faded, and the look of concentration returned as she slowly rose up on her knees, her warm, velvety walls sliding along his length. Just before she reached the tip, she paused, then lowered herself once more. Each time she repeated the action, her features lost a little more tension, gradually slackening as desire replaced wariness. Soft whimpers escaped her lips, and a surge of pure lust ran down his spine. The sound of her pleasure was overwhelming and, combined with the sight of her beautiful bare breasts swaying before his eyes, was easily enough to take him past the tipping point. He would have liked to capture a sweet nipple, to pleasure her with his mouth while she rode him, but his control was too tenuous. Not wanting it to end just yet, he was forced to lower his lids, denying himself the sight of her.

A sudden fear stabbed at his thoughts. _Is this a dream?_ It seemed too wondrous to be true.

His eyes snapped open, and he fixed his attention on her lovely face.

It was no use. It had been too long—no, it had _never_ been like this before—and his body clamoured for release.

"I'll have to lift you off soon," he admitted in a raspy voice, his muscles shaking as he fought to maintain control.

"Oh, that is a pity." She surprised him with her words, her lips pursing in disappointment. "It is starting to feel so lovely. Maybe next time we can go for longer?"

 _Next time?_

The knowledge there would be a "next time" pushed Jasper past the point of no return. Pleasure pooled in his groin and sent sparks shooting out along his nerves. Knowing he had mere seconds, he thrust upwards, twice, three times, then jerkily lifted Alice up, releasing his member from inside her body. He grabbed hold of his undershirt and shoved it between them to protect her from his seed then held her close, her precious naked form tight against his own. Burrowing his face in her neck, he groaned her name as his body shook with rapture so intense he feared _he_ might be the one to swoon.

~D&D~

"I wish you didn't have to go. The weather's dreadful, and I am worried you'll catch a chill."

Jasper sighed and hugged Alice closer. "Is that the only reason you don't want me to leave?"

She shook her head, loose strands of her hair teasing his nose.

They were both clothed again, him sans his undershirt. He had relented when Alice had insisted on keeping it to wash, knowing it would be nigh on impossible to explain its state to Mrs Carter. Alice had bled only a little, but the streaks of red stood out starkly on the white cotton shirt. As for the other stains . . .

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked for the third or maybe fourth time, as reluctant to leave her as she was to let him go. "I hope I didn't hurt you. I tried to be careful but—"

"You were wonderful." She pulled back to meet his worried gaze. "You made me feel something very special with just your touch, and I even enjoyed the intercourse afterwards. Although I suspect I shall enjoy it more next time when I am over the loss of my virginity, especially if it lasts more than a few minutes."

Jasper felt his cheeks fill with warmth. Lasting longer had never been a goal, as his wife had barely tolerated his intrusion upon her body, her distress making it wise for him to complete his mission in the shortest time possible. That Alice had welcomed him, was eager to repeat the exercise, and wanted _more_ was somewhat incomprehensible.

"I shall do better next time," he assured her.

"So will I," she said with a firm nod, and his mouth fell open.

"I don't think that is possible, sweetheart. You were astonishing . . . glorious . . . everything I ever could have hoped or dreamed of in a lover."

"Really?" She eyed him with obvious surprise. "I would be flattered, but I suspect your expectations are dismally low." Reaching up on her toes, she pressed a kiss to his lips. "I have a feeling we are going to thoroughly enjoy our interludes, even while we are in the learning phase. When shall you return? Or should I come to you next?"

Laughter bubbled up inside Jasper's chest. And to think he had thought her bossiness irritating. She could be as managing and dictatorial as she liked if she continued to grant him the privilege of worshipping her body.

"I think I had best come to you," he said, unable to keep the grin from his face. "My home is decidedly crowded, and I am sure we'd both rather not risk being caught out by a nosy servant. Or Peter, God forbid."

Her matching smile fell, and he feared he had said something to distress her. "Alice?" he prompted when she didn't offer an explanation for her downcast expression. "What is it? Are you afraid of our being found out?"

"No, I think we are both mature enough to manage discretion," she said, but her voice was small, and her eyes didn't quite meet his. "I was wondering if you will still allow me to visit with Peter now that I am a . . . well . . . fallen woman?"

"Fallen woman?" Jasper stared at her aghast. "Alice, you are the woman I love. You are not fallen _,_ you are a treasure, and if it were at all possible, I couldn't think of anyone I would rather have as Peter's mother."

"Truly?" Alice's eyes shone. "Even with my parentage and profession?"

"I couldn't care less about your parentage, as you have proven yourself to be a woman of great character." An ache formed in his chest, and he struggled to mimic Alice's smile. "But I could never ask you to give up your career. It wouldn't be fair to you, or the community, as your role is far too important to be sacrificed for the good of just one family."

"Yes, of course." Alice nodded, her smile now a memory. "Which is why we have embarked on a clandestine affair, one where we view one another as a pseudo spouse so as to absolve ourselves of guilt, the best and only compromise available to us."

There was an edge to her voice he didn't quite understand, but when he would have questioned her further, she silenced him with another kiss, this one far more passionate than the last.

"You had best be getting back," she said when they finally broke apart, their breaths coming quickly. "The night is far gone, and we can't risk your being seen by an early riser."

"Very well." He nodded, sensing a brittleness about her but wary of further prying. She was well within her rights to be feeling emotional considering what they had just done. Losing one's virginity was an enormous event for a young woman—an unwed one at that. He only wished he didn't have to leave in a furtive manner, like a man departing his mistress. He would much rather have stayed and comforted her like a husband.

Jasper almost snorted but managed to stifle it, fearing she would misunderstand the source of his amusement. It wasn't as if he had ever been granted opportunity to comfort his wife.

"Tomorrow you'll come and visit Peter . . . and me?"

She nodded, her expression softening. "I shall come for tea."

"Good." He kissed her soundly but kept it short, fearing the desire to never, ever leave might overwhelm him. "I shall return whenever and as often as you like."

"Not the next two nights, as I am on call. Say three nights from now, but only if it is safe. Agreed?"

Three nights felt like a lifetime away, but he refused to allow his disappointment to show. He would see her the next afternoon and, if he had any say in the matter, finagle an opportunity to steal a kiss.

"Until tomorrow." He pressed his lips to hers one last time then donned his overcoat and slipped out the door into the blustery night.

 **~D &D~**

 **So, that happened. I enjoyed viewing it from Jasper's perspective, as he was so damned appreciative. I know a few of you don't approve of Alice's decision and can't understand why they don't just marry, society be damned. Like I said last chapter, mindsets and long-held world views are difficult enough to recognize let alone change.**

 **Just a quick reminder (as I keep forgetting myself!) that Passion and Propriety is up for Top Ten stories for February over on FanFictionRecs. Your vote would be appreciated. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	21. Respectable

**Hello again! I almost didn't get this chapter up tonight, as I had visitors who just ... would ... not ... leave! (How rude? Don't they realise I have stories to update?)**

 **Quite a few of you have commented on the fact that Alice came up with a convoluted justification for them becoming lovers, namely that they could wed 'secretly' by sharing their vows just between the two of them, to which Jasper agrees. And then they don't share the vows? Honestly, I'm as puzzled by that as you guys are. Did I forget to write them? Do they say them later? I guess we'll all find out together!**

 **For those of you who don't know, I suffer from a progressive, neurodegenerative disorder. For the last few years, I have not had the memory or cognitive ability to function very well let alone write. A new treatment protocol is working wonders and has restored more IQ points than I thought I would ever see again. Hence the reason why I am madly writing and updating as quickly as possible in case it doesn't last. I am confidant that it will...but there are no guarantees. Unfortunately, my dramatic improvement only affects my current situation and is unable to return to me the memories from the last few years that my brain did not 'store', which happen to be many and varied. When it comes to a story I wrote four years ago...the plot is almost as much a mystery to me as it is to you all. I _do_ know there is a happy ending ahead, I'm just not 100% sure how we get there.**

 **xxx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 19**

 **Respectable**

"Will that be all, Mrs Cedric?" Alice wrapped the bottles of herbal tincture in paper and placed them carefully in a cardboard box. "You're not running low on liniment for your rheumatism?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I do need another jar. I would hate to run out now that the cold weather has set in. Do you have some ready-made?"

"I do indeed." Alice gestured to the neatly arrayed shelves behind her laden with tinctures, tonics, unguents, and all manner of remedies. Forkton's Herbal Emporium was in excellent order and doing a brisk trade, as was the adjoining consultancy, which wasn't operating _quite_ as discreetly as Alice would have preferred. The waiting room was rarely empty of patients from the village, and beyond, come to seek advice and treatment for their ills. But who was she to turn them away? If they did encounter problems with the authorities, Alice would return to seeing patients exclusively in their homes, but this was so much more convenient.

To make matters even better, her now fully trained assistants were all working efficiently, easing Alice's load. Travelling to see the more distant patients and far-flung villages that were devoid of an herbalist of their own was still time-consuming. But with Jasper putting both the chaise and carriage at Alice's and her assistants' disposal much of the time, it was a lot easier than it used to be.

With business thriving and pennies piling up to form pounds, for the first time in her life, Alice had money in the bank. Edward insisted he wanted no repayment for his initial investment, seeing it as mere partial recompense for the saving of both his life and that of his family. At the rate she was going, she would soon be in the position to take on more trainees. It was all coming together in accordance with the plan she had devised after Edward had stunned her with his offer to support her work and fund a permanent home for her herbalism and midwifery practice.

If only her personal life was in such good order.

Glad of an empty shop, finally, and a few moments' peace, Alice returned to her workbench in the much warmer adjoining room. As she stirred a simmering mix of herbs and garlic on the fine, new stove, she was reminded of Jasper's goading comments about witches' concoctions brewed at midnight and garnished with incantations. It seemed a lifetime ago since he had been so scathing of her abilities and she had viewed him with antipathy in return. Things had certainly changed between them, becoming far more complicated.

She couldn't bring herself to regret her actions of the night before, though a part of her did wonder what on earth had possessed her to vigorously pursue a physical relationship when their options were so limited. It had taken some mental gymnastics to placate her conscience, as her reasoning had seemed valid at the time but now appeared rather iffy. Jasper had been easily led, not that she blamed him. She had practically thrown herself at the man, her behaviour undeniably wanton.

But she did love him, and it had been every bit as wonderful as she had hoped.

Smiling at the memory, Alice lifted a hand to press against her chest. Her breasts, today concealed beneath the bodice of her work dress, had been bared to her lover the night before, caressed and kissed for the very first time. She had shocked him with her offer to disrobe—even more than her proposal, she suspected. But that hadn't stopped him from showing his appreciation for her naked form or revealing his to her.

 _With my body I thee worship._

They might not have spoken the vows in their proper setting, but they had certainly expressed them with their actions. How wondrous had been the adoration of his hands and fingers, mouth and tongue. His tender touch and intimate caresses had brought her a delight she had only dreamed of experiencing. Even the somewhat painful loss of her virginity had felt like an act of love, of the giving of his body rather than the plundering of hers.

Alice's skin tingled, the still-tender place between her legs pulsing with remembered pleasure. How noble of him to make sure she received the same measure of release prior to intercourse that he was guaranteed to achieve through the intimate act. He had been right to do so, as even in her limited experience she doubted such a brief invasion of her person could provide the same satisfaction for a woman . . . especially not when it was her first time.

It was a pity she couldn't tell Isabella, as she would have liked to talk about the life-changing experience with someone she trusted. It would have been especially beneficial to share her feelings with a woman who knew what it was like to be swept up by passion. For all the babies Alice had delivered and advice she had given regarding procreation, how best to prevent or achieve it, Isabella was far more experienced when it came to conjugal relations. Her friend would have been the ideal candidate to answer the myriad questions now bubbling to the surface of Alice's mind. It also would have been nice to receive reassurance that she had not wilfully condemned both herself and her beloved to an eternity of torment in exchange for what many perceived as the fleeting pleasures of sin.

Alice's stomach churned.

Would Isabella be of the same mind as those who would judge her harshly for her choices? Or would she understand the impossibility of Alice and Jasper's situation? Isabella might be disappointed in her friend, though Alice hoped she would appreciate the purity of Jasper's and her feelings for one another and acknowledge the almost irresistible need to share one's heart, soul, and body with the person one loved.

The urge to speak with Isabella was almost as strong this morning as the desire to be with Jasper had been the night before. But, of course, she dared not breathe a word and could only hope her inner joy at loving and being loved was not reflected by a corresponding outer glow.

The newly installed bell jangled above the shop's door and, after shifting the cauldron of brewed herbs to a cooler place on the stovetop, Alice wiped her hands on her apron and went to serve her customers. It was surprising how many people had ventured out in the wintry weather, though she imagined they were determined to stock up on supplies before the snow piled any higher. It made sense, but the constant interruptions were a bother. Finding a suitable young lass to serve as a shop assistant and save Alice from this particular chore was high on her list of priorities.

Consequently, she should have been thrilled to discover the two younger Swan sisters waiting in the store. Rosalie was the ideal person to help her with the task. She had been only too happy to help find Jasper the extra staff he had needed, and she had a ready supply of at least partially educated young women in need of employment at the orphanage she funded, courtesy of Edward's largesse.

But Alice wasn't thrilled by her visitors, long-standing friends though they might be.

Other than Isabella, they were the two most likely to see beneath the surface of her carefully constructed veneer. Considering the twinges of guilt she still felt for not pursuing the possibility of Rosalie and Jasper's making a match, it was hardly surprising her face flamed when she saw them.

"Alice, you are looking wonderful!" Tanya declared by way of greeting. "I am so glad to see you are more like your old self, though I am sure you are still missing your aunt terribly."

"Of course, she is missing her," Rosalie said flatly. "The poor dear's not long gone. Are you well, Alice? You look flushed to me."

"Rosalie! Don't be rude. Alice doesn't look flushed, she looks lovely . . . and warm."

"I have been brewing the ingredients for a tonic to ease the symptoms of ague." Alice wiped a damp tendril of stray hair from her forehead, feeling rather frowzy in comparison to the well-groomed and fashionably attired sisters. "Word is a severe form of the illness, one accompanied by coughing and congestion, has reached Colyton."

"Are you sure you are not coming down with it?" Rosalie took a step back.

"No, I told you, I have been standing over the stove. Now what can I do for you both?" Alice asked, her tone somewhat brusque. Rosalie was renowned for her bluntness, something that didn't normally bother Alice. But on this particular day, her mood was somewhat fragile, and Rosalie appeared more of a threat than a friend.

"We came to see how you were faring," Tanya said, looking between her sister and Alice, her expression puzzled. "Isabella sends her love and an invitation to afternoon tea if you are available, and the weather holds."

Under different circumstances, Alice would have jumped at the chance but, doubting her ability to hide her innermost feelings, she was glad of an excuse not to attend. "I shall have to make it another time, as I have already arranged to have afternoon tea with Peter Whitlock," she said, smiling at the thought of seeing the boy.

"And _Mr_ Whitlock? Will _he_ be in attendance?" Rosalie asked.

"I assume so, as _he_ invited me." Alice couldn't resist the dig. She was right. Rosalie was interested in Jasper, but she knew he wasn't interested in her. Certainly not now. He was with Alice . . . just not openly or in any sort of respectable manner that could be publicly acknowledged. Sighing, she added for the girls' benefit, "He is concerned about Peter's recovery."

"So, it is just a professional visit?"

"What else would it be?" Tanya asked with obvious bemusement. "It's not as if Alice and Mr Whitlock are courting. Everyone knows they can barely stand one another."

"Oh, do keep up," Rosalie said with a roll of her eyes. "Mr Whitlock and Alice mended their fences ages ago. Don't you recall the fuss everyone made when he waltzed with her at the christening ball?"

"You are right!" Tanya looked to Alice, her bright blue eyes wide. "Lady Westcott said his manner was positively flirtatious, not to mention that it was inappropriate for the two of you to be taking carriage drives together unchaperoned. I thought she was just being her usual stick-in-the-mud self, but if you are no longer at odds with Mr Whitlock, if he in fact _likes_ you, it does rather change things."

"Don't be ridiculous, Tanya. You are letting your imagination run wild." Alice straightened the ledger and began tidying the already clean counter, afraid of meeting either girl's perceptive gaze. "Mr Whitlock and I occasionally work together, nothing more. I have been helping his son, and he has been assisting me with transport, and that is all there is to it. You both know my profession precludes me from courtship and, even if it didn't, Mr Whitlock is in no position to pursue it."

"Whyever not?" Rosalie asked, and Alice snapped the pencil in her hand in two. "I know he is only a lowly estate manager, but he is very handsome, and he has quite the heritage . . . a retired officer and son of a baron. Now that Peter is on the mend, I imagine he will be in the market for a wife to help mother the lad and add to his family. Half the debutantes in town have got him in their sights."

"That they do." Tanya giggled before eyeing her sister speculatively. "If Alice isn't interested, maybe _you_ should go after Mr Whitlock, Rosalie. You would make a handsome couple."

"He can't afford a wife," Alice blurted.

Rosalie eyed her pointedly. "He can't afford a _poor_ wife, you mean. Nor do I imagine he would tolerate one who works for a living."

"But _he_ works for a living." Tanya's brow furrowed.

"It is not the same," Alice and Rosalie said in unison, about the only thing on which they were in agreement, other than Jasper's being desirable regardless of his eligibility.

"Have you considered the sacrifices you would have to make if _you_ were to wed?" Alice asked Rosalie. She couldn't resist, even knowing she was stretching the bonds of their friendship, as well as her credibility when it came to denying any interest in Jasper. "You would have to give up your involvement in running the orphanage."

"That is charity work, not a profession."

"It takes up a lot of your time," Tanya added with a shrug. "Besides, I thought you wanted to go with us to London next year when Edward takes his place in the House of Lords. Don't you want to meet with that group of abolitionists to discuss your ideas for reform? Marriage would put a crimp in your plans, unless you can find a husband who is sympathetic and has the political clout to lobby for social change. Mr Whitlock's not exactly toplofty."

Alice held her breath. Tanya was forgetting that her sister's ten thousand pounds, if managed wisely, could see Jasper's fortunes restored. Alice could also imagine him being very supportive of Rosalie's causes, considering the efforts he had gone to on behalf of the district. It wasn't as if this was the first time she had thought the two would make a good match, but she had dismissed it as a possibility, wrongly assuming Rosalie was in the same boat as Alice in regard to career ambitions. But if Rosalie's work was viewed as a charitable undertaking, something _tonnish_ ladies were permitted to engage in, she wouldn't be required to give it up when she wed.

"Do you _want_ to marry Mr Whitlock?" Alice kept her voice steady, but she was forced to grip the edge of the counter to keep her body from wavering.

"I don't know." Rosalie fiddled with the cameo brooch adorning her plum-coloured winter coat. "It is not as if I am enamoured of the man." She looked up to meet Alice's troubled gaze. "I just find him appealing. I think he would make an excellent husband for the right woman, don't you?"

Alice managed a wan smile, though she feared it was more of a grimace. Of course, she thought he would make an excellent husband. She had virtually tricked him into agreeing to be hers in secret the night before. Now, in light of the potentially respectable relationship and financial rescue of which her presence in his life might be robbing him, it seemed a wicked thing to have done.

~D&D~

"You look tired, old fellow. Did you have a restless night?"

Edward's perfectly innocent query triggered a choking fit that required Jasper to down a hastily procured glass of water.

"Not, er, _restless . . ._ just late. I didn't get back from Fulbright until after midnight," he admitted once he could speak without coughing, leaving out the part about not actually seeking his bed until the wee hours.

"Good Lord, man. Are you saying you rode through that storm?"

Jasper nodded, and Edward insisted he take the rest of the afternoon off. Jasper didn't argue and headed home in expectation of having a nap before Alice arrived for her visit. He would rather she didn't see him looking worn and weary after their night together when, if true to her delightful form, she would appear as fresh as a daisy.

Alice might get by on only a few hours' sleep, but he needed at least six or seven to function well. It was just one more example of how superior she was, how her strength of character and sheer fortitude put his to shame. He would never have summoned the courage to act on his desires and ask her to be his lover; it would have been unconscionable if he had. It was different with the proposition coming from Alice. She had a way of making impossible things possible, first by saving Peter's life and now by filling the void that had haunted Jasper's ever since his sham of a marriage. For far too long he had felt unwanted and uncared for, but Alice had changed all that. She had changed _him,_ and he would be eternally grateful. The freely given gift of her body was a treasure he would forever cherish and hopefully partake of again . . . soon.

Just the thought of what they had shared, the memory of her luscious curves bared before him, set his emotions to whirling. No wonder Jenks, Edward's secretary, had asked Jasper if he was coming down with something, as he had lost track of the conversation several times during their meeting.

"Just weary," Jasper had said, the words seeming sacrilegious considering how pleased he was to be in his current state. Still, a rest would be good, as would an escape from the biting cold. It was only a short distance, but he should probably send Wickers with the carriage to collect Alice from the emporium later that afternoon and save her the walk.

He was unable to resist taking a minor detour on his homeward journey. It had been more than ten hours since he had seen her but felt much longer.

A glance through the window of the emporium showed the shop portion of Alice's new building filled with customers, so he reluctantly urged his horse onwards. Jasper wasn't sure how he was going to refrain from taking her in his arms the moment he saw her again, let alone hide his true feelings from those who must never discern them . . . namely everybody.

Heaving a gusty sigh, he turned up the road that led to his home. Jasper hated that he couldn't publicly acknowledge Alice, nor she him. Of course, even if they were wed they couldn't be overly familiar in public, but he would have loved to stand proudly at her side. To gaze upon her the way Edward looked at Isabella, regardless of the brows that were raised by the show of emotion, would have been sweet, indeed.

What wasn't sweet was the sight of an impressive, four-horse-drawn carriage blocking the road in front of the estate manager's residence. He had just come from the manor so knew it wasn't a recent acquisition of Edward's, but he had no idea who the devil it could be.

"Mr Whitlock, thank 'eavens yer 'ome." Mrs Carter flapped her hands when he entered the foyer. Wearing a brown dress, she reminded him of a flustered hen. "Ye've got visitors." She pointed to the parlour. "Well, not _visitors_ exactly, as they say they're 'ere to stay."

"Who's here to stay?" he demanded, passing her his overcoat and then striding into the parlour. "I am not expecting anyone."

"Well, you should be." The impressively dressed older woman standing before his fireplace seemed far too grand for the modest room, the ostrich feathers in her elaborate hat waving back and forth. "You did tell us we had a home with you if worse came to worst." Looking around with her nose in the air, she sniffed. "Which it apparently has."

Jasper's stomach plummeted to his boots. He hadn't expected her to take him up on the offer so soon, and certainly not without warning.

"Hello, Mother. Penelope." He nodded to the pale young lady sitting slumped on his worn settee. "Welcome to Forkton."

 **~D &D~**

 **We sort of had an explanation of the 'secret wedding vows' in this chapter, but I'm hoping there is more. I think Alice and Jasper are going to find it very difficult to hide their true feelings from...everyone, as Alice put it. Especially now that Jasper's mother and sister have arrived. I foresee some interesting times ahead. ;)**

 **Thanks again for all your support of my stories. You guys are exceptionally agreeable!**

 **xx Elise**

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 **Information regarding my published books for those who are interested:**

 **I've been doing some research on how best to increase my original stories' rankings on Amazon (the higher the ranking, the more Amazon promotes them to other readers), and this is done in two main ways - reviews and buys or 'borrows'. Since I've unexpectedly discovered that I receive _more_ royalties when a story is borrowed for free by the reader through Kindle Prime or Unlimited than when a story is purchased outright, I have decided to drop the price of all my stories to just 99c (USD) in hopes of increasing their rankings. My sincere apologies to all of you lovely people who paid the higher price of $2.99. I honestly did not think I would drop the price any lower than that. If anyone is upset at having paid the extra two dollars, please PM me and maybe I can offer you an outtake of your choice as compensation. To those of you who have left reviews for my stories on Amazon ... thank you very, very much! **

**xx Elise**


	22. Longing

**I'm off to have an MRI at 7.30pm at night (weird...but it's free, so I'm not complaining). Only problem is I'm claustrophobic, so I've been on the edge of throwing up all afternoon just thinking about it. Funny thing is I never knew I was claustrophobic until I had my first MRI a year ago. Panic attacks are the worst. Just saying. Wish me luck?**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 20**

 **Longing**

Jasper appeared as nervous as a cat tied to a rocking chair when he opened the door. His hands shook when he took Alice's coat, his hair was mussed from what appeared to be repeated tugging, and a muscle twitched in his left cheek. She had been prepared to tell him they had made a mistake, to release him from any obligation he might feel towards her and then steer him in Rosalie's direction. But the thought that _he_ might regret what had happened between them was too painful a blow to contemplate. She couldn't give him up, not yet.

Alice was about to ask him what was wrong when she spied a pile of trunks and bags in the entryway.

"What's happening?" she asked, grabbing hold of his arm. "Are you going somewhere?"

To her dismay he shook her off and pressed a finger firmly to his lip. With the touch of his hand at her elbow, he ushered her through to the parlour. Appreciating the need for discretion, she planned to wait until he closed the door, but not one second more, before demanding an explanation. But she stopped short at the sight of two fashionably attired ladies looking like nothing more than a couple of exotic zoo creatures in the drab room, seated primly on two of the four available chairs. One appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties while the other looked closer in age to Alice. The older lady, though a tad on the stout side, was most handsome, her dark golden hair shot through with silver. The younger lady might have been pretty if she were not so washed-out looking, her sandy-coloured hair lacklustre and her complexion decidedly dull. Alice had her suspicions about their identities, but before she could voice them, Jasper spoke from where he was standing behind her right shoulder.

"Miss Brandon, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to my mother, the Dowager Lady Whitlock, and my sister, Miss Penelope Whitlock? Mother, Penelope, this is Miss Alice Brandon, the village's resident midwife and herbalist."

Alice turned to glare at Jasper. "Your mother?" she mouthed, and he responded with a stiff nod. At the sound of a throat being cleared, she spun back to face their audience and managed a wobbly curtsey. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Whitlock, Miss Whitlock."

"And you . . . I suppose." Lady Whitlock sounded more vexed than pleased. "Although I would have thought one in your position would come to the servants' entrance, not boldly up the front path. Is that typical behaviour for _tradespeople_ in these parts?"

"Mother!" Jasper stepped forward to stand beside Alice. "Miss Brandon is a friend of mine, a very _dear_ friend, and I'll not have you treat her with disrespect."

Lady Whitlock sputtered at the disclosure, not that Alice blamed her. Alice turned to gape at Jasper. So much for discretion. What was he thinking describing her in such a manner? She narrowed her eyes at him, and he harrumphed before adding, "She is a skilled herbalist and is responsible for saving Peter's life. I have great hopes she will be able to help Penny."

"That is all good and well." Lady Whitlock stood and puffed out her not inconsiderable bosom. "But I don't see that it allows for declarations of intimate acquaintance. Are you courting this . . . this . . . _woman_?"

"No, of course not." Alice took a deliberate step to the side, putting some space between her and Jasper. "We are both employed by the Masen estate, so we have developed a working relationship. Nothing more, I assure you." It was the second time that day she had spoken the lie, and neither time did it sit well in her gut.

"Come now, Miss Brandon, we share more than _just_ a working relationship." Jasper edged closer, but she dared not move away lest he chase her around the room. At that point, she wouldn't have ruled anything out, as he appeared to have taken leave of his senses.

"We are neighbours, of sorts. Is that what you are intimating?" She widened her eyes as far as they would go, hoping to high heavens he would get the message to stay on his side of the line of propriety.

"No, it is not, actually." He returned her look with an equally pointed one. "What _I_ was referring to was our being godparents to Lord Masen's twin babies."

"Right, of course you were." Alice breathed a sigh that he had not said anything inappropriate. Although he might as well have—if his mother's reaction was anything to go by, his words were like a red rag to a bull.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jasper." The grand lady flicked her fingers in dismissal. "You may have forgotten your position, what with having to engage in _employment_." She made the word sound like a foul curse. "But no respectable viscount or viscountess would ask a mere herbalist to be godmother for their child. I believe going down in those dreadful mines has softened your brain."

"There's nothing wrong with my brain, Mother." The twitch in Jasper's cheek returned with a vengeance, and Alice felt a corresponding one start up above her right eye. She had said much the same thing when Isabella had made the proposal, but that didn't mean she appreciated having her contribution to David and Elizabeth's lives relegated to a delusion.

"I can assure you that I am, indeed, godmother to Lady Masen's twins." Alice raised her chin, refusing to be cowed. "Isabella and I grew up together and share an intimate acquaintance, of which she is not the least bit ashamed. Now if you will excuse me, I shall go and visit with Peter, somewhere I _know_ I shall be welcome."

"Alice, don't go!"

Jasper caught hold of her arm, and she stared at him, appalled. This was getting worse by the minute, and she was beginning to wish she _had_ come in through the kitchen. Although she supposed she would have had to face his snob of a mother at some point. She couldn't believe he had used her Christian name, but before she could come up with a suitable excuse for his complete loss of decorum, he rounded on Lady Whitlock.

"Mother, get down off your high horse and apologise to Miss Brandon this instant."

"I am a dowager baroness, and I shall do no such thing."

Lady Whitlock raised her chin so high Alice feared she might tip over backwards.

"Mother, please." Jasper's sister made a whimpering sound and wrung her hands together. Alice was concerned for the girl, as she didn't look at all well, not that Alice was feeling the best herself. She could feel a rather nasty headache coming on.

"You might be a dowager baroness," Jasper growled, his voice brooking no argument, "but you're also as penniless as I am, thanks to Harold. I am aware you are disappointed I have been reduced to working for a living, but you seem to forget it is the money I earn as an estate manager that keeps you fed, clothed, and with a roof over your head. More so now than ever."

Lady Whitlock seemed to deflate before Alice's eyes, and her lower lip trembled. Penelope stood and went to clasp her mother's hand.

"He is right, Mother," the rail-thin young woman said in a gentle but firm tone. "We have to face that our circumstances have changed. If it weren't for Jasper, we would have been out on the street months ago. He has offered us a home, and we need to be grateful to him and gracious to his friends, regardless of their stations."

Penelope smiled at Alice in apparent apology. Alice was contemplating whether to return it or not when Jasper interjected once more.

"Alice, I mean Miss Brandon, is actually the daughter of a baron."

"That makes more sense." Penelope's smile widened.

Even Lady Whitlock's expression lightened, but only for a moment. "What is a lady of breeding doing working as a midwife and herbalist? Those aren't genteel pursuits."

Alice shot Jasper a withering glance. "Your son left out the part about my being the _illegitimate_ daughter of a deceased baron. Lord Brandon saw to it that I received an education then left me without a penny, or a home, upon his demise. I had no choice but to find employment or starve to death, a situation with which you both are not unfamiliar?"

"Oh." Penelope blinked several times while her mother looked like she might swoon. "How tragic."

"Not particularly," Alice said, removing her bonnet and patting her hair into place. "I have found gainful employment working in a worthwhile profession. I find it is a lot more satisfying than sitting around making idle chitchat all day in between unnecessary changes of outfit. Now, I am off to see Peter. _Mister_ Whitlock, I suggest you get your mother a cup of tea and something to eat, as she is looking rather pale. A shot of brandy probably wouldn't do her any harm."

Closing the door behind her with a tad more force than was required, Alice strode down the corridor. She wasn't all that surprised when she heard thundering footsteps following behind her less than a minute later.

"Alice, please," Jasper called, but she was too angry to halt. Halfway up the stairs, he caught up with her and grabbed her by the arm, so she had no choice but to turn and face him. "I am sorry about my mother. She'll come around, I promise."

"Come around to what?" Alice whispered harshly, their faces level, with Jasper on the step below. "And what were you thinking saying I was a 'dear friend' and using my Christian name? You may as well have introduced me as your mistress!"

The colour drained from Jasper's cheeks. "I only wanted them to know how important you are to me." Closing his eyes for a moment, he released a pent-up sigh. "But, of course, nobody can know that." His expression turned solemn. "I am sorry, Alice. It is just that, after last night, I am more in love with you than ever. I want to announce to the world that I have found the woman of my dreams, a woman I respect and admire and _will not_ countenance her to be disrespected in any way."

A whimper escaped Alice's lips, and her knees weakened. He was such a dear man, and she could understand why his mother and sister were protective of him, but he was also hers now . . . as long as he didn't ruin things by being an utter nincompoop and giving the game away.

She glanced up the stairs and down and, once certain they were alone, caressed his cheek. "I love you, too, Jasper. But you _must_ act with more circumspection."

"I know." He dropped his head and looked up at her from beneath his lashes. "I've just never been any good at keeping secrets."

"I take it you didn't work as a spy behind enemy lines?"

His eyes lit up. "No, but I always wanted to."

"Well, here's your chance." Hearing a noise above them, Alice gave his hand a squeeze then released it. "For the only way we shall be able to continue seeing one another is if the truth remains concealed."

Jasper was on his best behaviour for the remainder of the visit, maintaining a respectful distance and suitably reserved tone. He insisted that Alice and Peter, who they discovered waiting for them at the top of the stairs, return with him to the front parlour for tea and some surprisingly edible rice and cornflour scones.

"You honestly credit Peter's recovery to his _diet_?" Lady Whitlock asked her son.

Jasper nodded vigorously. "That and the herbal medicaments Miss Brandon has prescribed. He has put on weight, and his stomach cramps and other pains are almost a thing of the past."

"He certainly appears much improved from the last time I saw him." Lady Whitlock's tone softened as she returned her gaze to her grandson. To Alice's surprise, a sheen appeared in the older woman's eyes and she removed a handkerchief from her reticule to dab at her tears. "I regret not having visited him sooner. You won't hold it against your grandmother, Peter. Will you?"

Peter looked to his father for direction, a puzzled frown creasing his brow.

"Of course, he won't," Jasper said, though he sounded less than convinced. "He'll warm to you quickly if you read to him. He likes stories, as well as playing games in the garden."

"I don't know about playing games _,_ but I am sure I could manage a story or two." Lady Whitlock smiled encouragingly at Peter, and Alice and Jasper shared a look. Maybe there was hope for the dowager baroness after all. She had certainly fallen a long way, even farther than Alice had when she had been cast from her father's home. It must have been a shock going from presiding over a grand country estate, several, by the sounds of it, and a London mansion situated in the heart of Mayfair, to taking refuge with her youngest son in his modest residence in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. Alice almost felt sorry for Lady Whitlock, until she began asking about the eligible young ladies presiding in the district, in particular the size of their dowries.

"So, both of Isabella's sisters have been equally blessed by their brother-in-law's generosity? _Ten thousand pounds_ apiece?"

"I think so." Jasper shrugged and looked to Alice. "Miss Brandon would know more about that. She is their friend—Miss Rosalie Swan's in particular."

"Not after this morning," Alice muttered beneath her breath, wishing Isabella's sister to perdition. She was beginning to think fate was conspiring against her, as even Jasper's mother was intent on matchmaking them, and she hadn't even met the girl.

"Is she a comely lass?" Lady Whitlock directed the question at Alice, but Alice deliberately took a bite of her scone to avoid having to respond. Eyeing Jasper pointedly, she waited as eagerly as his mother for his response. As if sensing he was on unstable ground, his brows furrowed.

"I suppose so, but I don't know why you are so interested," he said, seemingly clueless to his mother's machinations. "You are not planning on inviting Harold down, are you? For I can assure you, the viscount will not tolerate either of his sisters-in-law being taken advantage of by a known rake who only wants their dowries to fund his gambling."

"That is no way to talk about your brother." Lady Whitlock sniffed. "He is still the title holder and head of this household."

"He is not the head of _my_ household." Jasper's lips flattened into a grim line.

"It is true, Mother. Harold is every bit the scoundrel that Jasper described."

While Alice was pleased to hear Penelope defend her brother, and show some much-needed spark, she cleared her throat, wondering if they had forgotten she was there. Lady Whitlock looked at her impassively, as one would a recalcitrant servant who's had the temerity to interrupt her betters. Just as Alice suspected, it would take more than a forced apology for Jasper's mother to see her as anything other than a glorified underling.

"I had best be getting on." Alice stood and donned the gloves she had removed before drinking her tea. "Some of us have work to do."

"This late in the day?" Jasper stood and took a step closer before visibly restraining himself. His obvious concern was a balm to her pride, which had taken a battering at his mother's hands.

"It is my turn to be available to see patients tonight, remember?" It was why they had arranged not to meet again for another three nights. At the memory of what they planned to do at that particular encounter, she ducked her head, but not before she had seen Jasper's nostrils flare in response.

"Yes, but you have been so busy lately." He took half a step closer. "Couldn't one of the other women cover for you so you can get a good night's rest?"

"I hardly think that is your concern, Jasper," his mother said with a huff. "You heard Miss Brandon. She is a _working_ woman, not a lady of leisure."

It was meant as a gibe, but Alice found herself taking it as a compliment.

"Lady Whitlock is correct," she said with a nod in the dowager baroness' direction. "I have got tonics to bottle, and there are a couple of patients I need to check in on. We have placed a few beds in one of the rooms for patients to stay when they need more intensive nursing than their families can provide. Mrs Albert is staying also, but she feels more confident when I am there to oversee matters."

"You work at a hospital?" Lady Whitlock asked, her interest piqued despite herself. "I would not have thought a village this size would possess such a thing."

"Not in the traditional sense." Alice smiled at the thought. "At present, we have a nursing post with consultancy rooms for patients and an adjoining herbal apothecary."

"And Miss Brandon doesn't just _work_ there, she owns and runs the place," Jasper informed his mother with obvious pride.

"May I make an appointment to come and see you, Miss Brandon?" Penelope asked. Her request was met with a tsk from her mother.

"I am sure Miss Brandon can make herself available to consult with you here, Penelope. There's no need for a lady of your calibre to lower herself to queuing up in some dreary room with the common folk. You could catch a disease."

Penelope's pale cheeks flushed, and her shoulders hunched. Alice's waiting and consulting rooms were far from dreary, but she refrained from defending them. She suspected Jasper's sister had used up her supply of courage for the day in standing up for her brother earlier and then making the request. Besides, visiting Penelope at Jasper's home might mean she would get to see him also, depending on his work schedule. Knowing he liked to take luncheon with Peter whenever possible, she took that into consideration. "I would be happy to come and see you here tomorrow morning, Miss Whitlock. Say just before noon?"

The young woman nodded before shooting her mother a mildly defiant look. Alice moved to leave, but Jasper blocked her path.

"I shall send Mr Wickers into town first thing tomorrow, so you have the carriage at your disposal. Actually, if you'll wait a few moments, I shall have him harness up the chaise, and he can drive you home. I don't like the idea of your heading out in this weather."

A glance out the window revealed darkening skies but no evidence of rain or snow.

"There's no need, as it's not a long walk," Alice assured him with a smile, wishing she could be more effusive in showing appreciation for his care.

"You could always stay for dinner," he added, and her smile faded, replaced by a reproving look.

"No, that is all right. I really must be going."

"I don't want you to go at all," said Peter, who had been sitting quietly looking at the pictures in one of his books, just before surprising Alice by throwing his arms around her legs and holding tight. Although his health was improving, he seemed subdued in the presence of his grandmother and aunt. "Couldn't you come to live here with us, Miss Brandon?" he asked before turning to his father. "You'd like that, too, wouldn't you, Papa?"

Jasper coughed then patted his son's head while sending Alice an apologetic glance. "I am afraid that is not possible, Peter, as Miss Brandon has her own home. Also, she is a very busy lady with lots of people relying on her—sick people who she takes care of just like she took care of you."

Although disappointed, Peter accepted his father's explanation with a sigh. Alice doubted Jasper's mother would be so easily mollified, and she braced herself in expectation of the lady's reaction to her grandson's inflammatory request. When none was forthcoming, she glanced in the older lady's direction to be met by a wary but knowing look.

After Jasper escorted her to the front door, Alice whispered, "I think your mother is on to us." It was hardly surprising, since he had seemed incapable of restraining himself, but rather than appear chastened, he shrugged a broad shoulder.

"Don't worry. Even if she suspects, it is in her best interests to keep the matter private." After checking to make sure they were alone, he caught hold of Alice's hand and entwined their fingers. His touch, even through her gloves, sent a shiver racing up her arm, and she squeezed his fingers in return. It was the height of foolishness, but she couldn't help being flattered he was having such a difficult time keeping his feelings to himself.

"You will have to be more careful when we are in public," she insisted, though her heart warmed at the look of longing in his eyes. She had never seen him look at Rosalie that way.

"I shall," he promised, leaning down to graze her cheek with his lips. "Is it still all right if I come over on Saturday night?" She nodded, and his lips turned up in a relieved smile. "I shall be counting the hours."

"Just don't do it aloud," she said, and his laughter followed her out into the brisk, evening air.

 **~D &D~**

 **Well, that was fun! I needed a chuckle, and that gave me quite a few. I hope it did the same for you. :)**

 **xx Elise**


	23. Complaint

**Thanks so much for all your best wishes for getting through my MRI. I survived it...but I'm not in a hurry to have another one. The silly thing is it was only for my knee, not my head, so they left my head peeking out of the tunnel. I still freaked out a little though. Shudder. I'm sorry that so many of you found out you were claustrophobic the same way!**

 **I'm glad last chapter gave you a laugh. I had written a big long explanation of why Alice and Jasper can't get married, talking about the religious and societal expectations of the times and the fairly dire consequences of disobeying them...then I accidentally deleted it. Suffice to say, if you live in a country where you have a choice in who you marry and how you live your life, it's something to be grateful for.**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 21**

 **Complaint**

Alice was determined to honour her aunt's passing by observing at least three months of mourning when only a few weeks were required for such an aged and, technically, quite distant relative. But she couldn't help wishing she was wearing one of her brighter-coloured gowns when she returned to the estate manager's residence the next day. She had dismissed Isabella's suggestion to treat herself to a new and more fashionable black gown and bonnet, made by the seamstress who had recently set up shop in the village. Alice wasn't used to spending money on herself, and her plain, crepe mourning gown was still serviceable. It was also drab as a field mouse's fur, more like something a servant would wear, and she couldn't help thinking it had contributed to Lady Whitlock's dismissive attitude the day before.

After thanking Mr Wickers for his service, as being transported in the carriage to visit her patients that morning had been an absolute godsend in light of the dreadful weather, she squared her shoulders and approached the front door. Jasper didn't seem to mind that she wasn't always adorned in the latest styles, his own daywear leaning towards the practical rather than the frivolous. From the way he had looked at her the day before, one would have thought she had been wearing the most becoming gown, not an old one, reworked and dyed black for mourning. Still, she _could_ afford a new dress, quite easily, and acquiring a second or even third dark-coloured gown might be wise. Although she always wore a sturdy apron and sleeve protectors when engaged in nursing a patient, wearing the same outfit, day in and day out, wasn't practical for one in her position.

Huddled beneath the scant protection of the modest portico covering Jasper's front door, Alice waited to be granted entry. The almost continual downpours had turned the recent snow to piles of slush, while low-hanging clouds and an icy wind added to the day's gloom. Patting into place the curls she had laboured over before leaving her cottage that morning then adjusting the rim of her black ribbon-trimmed bonnet, Alice hoped she didn't look too bedraggled. But as it turned out, the state of her appearance was moot.

"Oh, thank 'eavens ye're 'ere, Miss Brandon." Mrs Carter all but dragged her inside after she opened the door, her face flushed a rosy red. "Ye're just the person I need, as ye're used to dealing with lofty types."

"Mr Whitlock isn't present?" Alice peered into the parlour, finding it empty as they passed on their way to the kitchen.

"No, 'e was called away early. More trouble over at that Fulbright mine."

"But he was at the Fulbright mine the day before yesterday and didn't return until late," Alice said without thinking, as there was no reason for her to know such details. Fortunately, Mrs Carter was too distressed to pick up on her mistake. "Has there been an accident?" Alice asked, though she surely would have been informed if her services were required.

"Nothing serious," Mrs Carter said. "But I tell ye, the place is cursed and should be sealed up. It has cost more lives than all the other mines in the district put together. Something sinister is going on there, I'd swear it."

Alice didn't disagree, but since there had not been a significant accident, she was none the wiser to the cause of the harried housekeeper's distress.

"What is it, then? Has Peter relapsed?" If his grandmother had given him something to eat from his forbidden list, she would be absolutely furious.

"The lad's fine, but I've sent 'im up to his room to play unsupervised, I'm afraid. Lady Whitlock rose only a while ago—they keep _city_ hours, if you please. Kept us all to-ing and fro-ing until the middle of the night, and she 'ad the audacity to tell me to leave 'er be when I popped me 'ead in at a respectable hour to say breakfast was ready. All me 'ard work gone to waste. I don't know whether to make another breakfast or start on luncheon!"

"She didn't say what she would prefer when she came down from her room?"

"Well, that's the thing—she 'asn't come down. She woke up and started ringing this bell she brung with her—I didn't know what it was at first, and I looked everywhere, thinking Peter was playing games. She weren't 'appy it took so long to get a response, but why she couldn't just stick 'er 'ead out in the 'allway and 'oller for 'elp if she needed it, like any reasonable person, is beyond me."

Alice opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, recalling that Mrs Carter had never worked in a grand home. Mr Whitlock had surrendered the airs, graces, and typical demands of the gentry upon his relegation to the middle class, so he had not prepared his housekeeper to meet the demands of a dowager baroness. She imagined they were both in for some shocks.

"Is that what has you all upset?" Alice removed her coat and bonnet, then urged the older woman to take a seat. "Or was it being scolded by Mr Whitlock's mother?"

"That and the rest of it." Mrs Carter pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket and mopped at her glowing face. "I told her I need Jillian 'ere in the kitchen, as there be no way I can keep up with all the extra cooking alone. But the biddy insisted Jillian stop 'er cleaning and caring for Peter and be assigned to 'er alone. The poor lass don't know a thing about being no lady's maid, and she ended up running out of the room in tears. To make matters worse, she 'as 'er courses and is suffering terrible cramps, but that . . . that . . . _woman_ 'asn't got a sympathetic bone in 'er gentrified body!"

Alice sighed and placed her large reticule on the kitchen table. "Have you given Jillian a posset?"

"I was just about to when I 'eard the knock at the door."

Delving into her bag, Alice located a sachet of powder then placed it on the table. "Mix her up a teaspoon of this in some warm water with honey. It's got both cramp and willow bark and should do the trick."

"Have ye anything in yer bag for me nerves?" Mrs Carter reached for the sachet with shaking hands. "If it wasn't for the lad, I'd be of 'alf a mind to pack me bags and go stay with me niece in Thornlie. Not sure 'ow long I can put up with the nonsense going on in this 'ousehold."

The last thing Jasper needed was for Mrs Carter to abandon him, and Alice assured the housekeeper she would prepare her a tonic after seeing to her demanding houseguests. A quick check on Peter revealed the wide-eyed boy sitting huddled in the corner of his room, a teddy bear in his lap.

"Miss Brandon!" He leaped up and rushed at her, and she opened her arms to receive his embrace. "I'm so glad you are here. Grandmama was shouting, and she made Jillian cry. Papa says she's going to live with us forever, but I don't like her. I want her to go away!"

"Ah, Peter." Alice soothed his hair back from his forehead. "I am afraid your grandmother doesn't have anywhere else to go. This is her home now, hers and your Aunt Penelope's, but don't worry. I am sure it will get easier. She is just used to things being done differently, that's all."

Peter looked as dubious as Alice felt, but he agreed to play quietly with his toys until he was called down for luncheon. Fired up to the point where she feared steam might be escaping her ears, Alice knocked on the door to the third upstairs bedroom, the one she assumed must contain both Jasper's mother and sister. After hearing a faint command from within to enter, she opened the door prepared to go to battle. What she wasn't prepared for was the sight of Lady Whitlock, collapsed in a heap on the floor, weeping copious tears. A quick glance around the ridiculously crowded room—trunks and bags piled almost to the ceiling in places—revealed Penelope curled up on her side in the lone and not overly large bed. Her red-rimmed eyes were open, and she appeared pale but unharmed, so Alice attended to her mother first.

"Lady Whitlock?" Crouching beside the dowager baroness, she placed a hand on her arm. "Are you hurt?"

"Hurt?" The lady stared at her blankly then dissolved into another fit of weeping. Alice looked her over but couldn't discern any obvious injury, no lumps or bumps. Her hair was wild, and she was in a state of semi-undress, her stays untied and her gown hanging loose. Alice fetched a crocheted blanket from the bed to wrap around the older woman's shoulders, as the room was devoid of a fireplace and quite chilled.

"I tried to help Mama," Penelope said in a whispery voice. "But I fear the journey wore me out, and I have no strength this morning."

The young woman's pallor and the dark rings circling her eyes added weight to her words.

"That is all right." Alice gave her a comforting smile. "You rest, and I'll help your mother get sorted. I am guessing this all has come as quite a shock."

"Shock!" Lady Whitlock blurted, grabbing hold of Alice's arm with a vicelike grip. "It is a travesty, I tell you. A disgrace! What was my son thinking, inviting us to come and live with him when he can't provide the most basic necessities?"

Alice drew in a breath and prayed for patience. "It might seem that way, my lady, as you are used to an elevated standard of living. But having a roof over one's head, a bed to sleep in, and food to eat is not to be taken for granted. Things could be far worse."

Lady Whitlock sniffed, her lower lip wobbling. "But how shall we manage without a proper lady's maid to dress us and style our hair?"

"I shall help you this time, and then when you are feeling better, we shall work out a plan for tomorrow." Alice patted Lady Whitlock's arm, feeling an unexpected surge of sympathy. She had been in an almost identical position the day of her father's funeral, dumped in the village with a bag full of frivolous gowns she couldn't even don herself and not a clue how to proceed. If it hadn't been for Edith's taking her in, Alice wasn't sure what would have become of her. She remembered succumbing to more than one bout of weeping while her aunt patiently educated her on how to get by without a cornucopia of servants to provide for her every need. Redesigning her gowns and stays so they buttoned or laced up from the front, rather than the rear as was the custom of the gentry—evidence they were wealthy enough to afford servants to dress them—had been the first task she had undertaken.

After helping Lady Whitlock to her feet, Alice set her stays and gown to rights, laced, hooked, and buttoned them into place, and then found her a warm pelisse to put on over the top. Once Lady Whitlock's legs were stockinged and she had donned a pair of flimsy slippers, Alice encouraged the still-shaken lady to take a seat on the room's sole wooden chair.

"There's not even a dressing table or a mirror." Lady Whitlock gestured around her, a fresh bout of tears threatening to fall. "And there's no fireplace, so the room is freezing. What was Jasper thinking?"

Alice bristled at the criticism, but then she saw the bewilderment in his mother's eyes.

"He was probably thinking you would give him some warning of your impending arrival so that he could make preparations," Alice said in a no-nonsense tone while brushing out the older lady's tangled curls. "His room is larger and possesses a fireplace and a good-sized bed, so I imagine he was planning on moving in here and giving his room to the two of you. My guess is you caught him off guard with your unexpected arrival."

"That makes sense, Mama," Penelope offered in a small voice.

Lady Whitlock nodded, even managing a wan smile. But then she looked to Alice in alarm. "How do you know about the condition of my son's bedroom? What possible reason could you have for entering a gentleman's private space?"

Huffing, Alice stopped brushing and looked her straight in the eye. "I have entered many bedrooms, Lady Whitlock. The reason I entered your son's was to nurse his predecessor, a most reprehensible gentleman by the name of Mr Crowley, through a nasty bout of dropsy. I was required to stay for several days in this very room, and I became well-acquainted with the layout of the house and the size and attributes of the master bedroom."

"Oh, I see." Lady Whitlock didn't apologise for her insinuation, but she at least had the decency to appear chagrined. That Alice might well have become acquainted with Jasper's bedroom for the very reason his mother feared, a salacious one, if her arrival had been delayed, was neither here nor there.

"Do you know if there is a bathing room with a privy closet on this floor?" Penelope asked, struggling to sit up. "The chamber pot is full, and I require its use again."

"I am afraid the house doesn't boast anything so grand, on this floor or the one below." Alice sighed and fetched the, thankfully, covered pot. "You wait there, and I'll go empty this. I shall be back shortly." At the door she paused and addressed Lady Whitlock. "It is almost one in the afternoon. Shall I ask Mrs Carter to prepare your luncheon?"

"Thank you, Miss Brandon." Lady Whitlock straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, but Alice suspected it was to strengthen her resolve rather than intended as insult. Her theory was confirmed by the lady's following words. "You have been very kind," she said, patting awkwardly at the long locks hanging past her shoulders. "Would it be too much to ask for you to help me put my hair up when you return?"

"Not at all." Alice smiled and was gratified when she received a tremulous one in return.

Just as Alice suspected, Penelope's symptoms were almost identical to her nephew's. She had also been repeatedly bled, and the insides of her arms were a patchwork of fine scars. But it was the medicines she had been given, harsh astringents and more than one dosing of mercury tonic, that concerned Alice the most. Jasper's sister was twenty-five years old, yet she had the rail-thin body of a girl in her teens. Her eyes, those of a much older woman, were blue-grey in colour and dull, as were her skin and hair. But she wasn't lacking intelligence and had to have been in possession of some degree of fortitude to have survived so long.

"What have you deduced?" Lady Whitlock asked when Alice pulled the blanket back over her daughter's frail form. "My son is under the impression you are some sort of 'miracle worker', but I fail to see what a village herbalist can accomplish that the finest physicians in the country could not."

"Mama, you promised." Penelope pointed a stern finger at her mother. Alice braced herself for a quick rebuttal but, rather than giving one, Lady Whitlock slumped back in her seat and dabbed her eyes with a lace-trimmed kerchief.

"Yes, you are right," the dowager baroness said, sparing Alice a glance that could almost be described as apologetic.

Alice returned her attention to Penelope, who bore a matching expression.

"Please forgive my mother, Miss Brandon. My nephew is a different child to the one we last saw and heard about from my brother's letters. Whatever you have done to help him, it _is_ a miracle in my book." A hint of fear shadowed the young woman's eyes. "Do you think there's any hope for me, or is it too late?"

"Where there is breath, there is hope," Alice said with a tight smile. "But I must ask that you cease from imbibing any more of the mercury-based tonics, purges, or astringents you have been prescribed in the past."

"With pleasure." Penelope shuddered. "I refused more often than I took them, as they make me feel much worse. Will you be prescribing something new . . . something _herbal_?"

Alice nodded slowly, wondering about the wariness in her tone. "I shall start with a brew to ease your stomach and help your digestion."

Lady Whitlock whimpered, and the hint of colour in Penelope's cheeks leeched away altogether.

"Is there a problem?" Alice asked.

"My father was violently opposed to my being seen by an herbal healer," Penelope said with obvious reluctance. "My eldest brother was sickly, like Peter. He was the heir, and Papa was determined he should recover, but the years passed, and he grew worse, not better. It was only after the physicians had exhausted all possibilities that he allowed Raymond to be seen by a woman recommended by our old housekeeper. She said it was too late, but she would do her best. Poor Raymond succumbed scant hours after she gave him an herbal brew. Father had the poor woman arrested, but even the magistrate could see her actions were unlikely to have caused my brother's death. He had been ill for too long."

 _And no doubt consumed copious amounts of poison._ Alice sighed but kept the thought to herself.

"I can understand your concern, Miss Whitlock, but rest assured I believe you're a long way off dying. The tonic I prepare you will be very mild and do you no harm."

Whether it would do her any good was yet to be seen, but that was another thought better left unspoken. Alice went on to explain the story behind the Oriental diet and recommended that Penelope follow it also. Lady Whitlock muttered that they didn't have much choice in the matter, as her son refused to have any foods in the house that Peter might be tempted, and sickened, by.

"Well, that will make it easier." Alice smiled, though she couldn't imagine the grand lady enduring the loss of her biscuits and cakes without considerable complaint. At least she hadn't minded the scones Mrs Carter had cooked the day before.

 **~D &D~**

 **You all suspected Lady Whitlock was in for some rude shocks, and you were not wrong! Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts each chapter. You must feel like you have a part-time job as a reviewer with these chapters coming so often!**

 **xx Elise**

 **.**

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 **.**

 **Exciting Book News!**

The vast majority of my sales come from Kindle Unlimited (like Netflix for books on Amazon), for which I receive a much higher royalty than ebook sales. So, I've decided to discount the Kindle Ebooks to 99c USD in hopes of getting more sales which will lift my Amazon ranking and, in turn, means more readers will see my stories.

To those who paid the higher price of $2.99, thank you so much! If anyone is concerned over having paid the extra $2.00, please don't hesitate to contact me. Maybe I can write you a shortish outtake to make up for it. The same goes for anyone who has been kind enough to take the time to leave a review on Amazon.

I originally self-published these previously published stories just so they were available for anyone who might want the original versions. Things are going so much better than I had hoped, that it looks like the income I will receive from having my books on Amazon is going to make a huge difference to my real life situation. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to all my wonderful readers for your support and generosity. 3

xxx Elise


	24. Rejection

**Hello Again!**

 **Sorry for going AWON (Absent With Out Notice), but my computer died, and my back-up ten-year-old mini laptop wasn't able to open Dropbox to retrieve the files. Sigh...**

 **Thanks to everyone who has purchased or borrowed my stories off Amazon this week, left reviews, or voted for Passion and Propriety over at TwiFanFictionRecs. You guys are amazing.**

 **I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 22**

 **Rejection**

As Alice had predicted, an outbreak of grippe and chest complaints kept the shop bell ringing over the next few days. Requests for her help, or that of her coworkers, came in a steady stream, matched by the almost constant rain. Despite being run off her feet, she made time each day to visit the Whitlock household, indulging herself with a visit with Peter each time after she checked on Penelope's progress. Lady Whitlock's manner was stilted but otherwise civil. She even thanked Alice for convincing young Jillian she was up to the task of helping the dowager baroness and her daughter with their attire. Although Alice could tell it irked the grand lady to be reduced to no more than two outfit changes in a day, as did the simple bun she had been forced to adopt, the only style Jillian could manage.

Mrs Carter had been correct—the timid girl, who had spent most of her life at the orphanage in Thornlie, was out of her depth caring for _tonnish_ ladies. She nevertheless did her best, and Alice made sure to voice her appreciation.

"Miss Penelope isn't 'ard to please," Jillian said with a shy smile. "Not that she needs as much 'elp as 'er mother, as she rarely leaves her bed."

"And Lady Whitlock? How has her demeanour been?" Alice asked, as she had assured Jillian she wanted to know if the dowager baroness bullied her in any way.

"Not as scary as she first seemed, thanks to ye," Jillian said, though her smile faded. "It's all a bit much to manage, though, for just Mrs Carter, Mary, and meself. The cooking, cleaning, caring for Peter, and now the ladies. They make a lot of work."

"I am sure they do." Alice's smile was one of commiseration. Jillian's input confirmed what she already knew. Jasper needed more helpers, preferably a lady's maid who was experienced at coiffing hair and caring for elaborate wardrobes. But she was hesitant to go behind his back again to arrange matters. It was the prerogative of a wife to hire household staff, not a friend, especially not one who was trying to allay suspicion that she was something more.

Unfortunately, for all the time she spent in his household, Alice didn't get to see Jasper. An accident at the Fulbright mine, while not serious, necessitated his presence in the days following as he investigated its cause, and their paths did not cross. Three days and twenty-one hours after she had last been in his arms, Alice stood by the window of her dimly lit cottage. Staring into the night, she counted down the minutes in expectation of his arrival. When midnight came and went, she made herself a cup of tea. Sitting by the fire, she sipped it slowly as her anticipation gave way to disappointment. He had seemed eager for their reunion, and she couldn't imagine what had delayed him.

Her body no longer tender from their initial coupling, Alice had been looking forward to experiencing the bliss of physical communion again, although she would have been happy just to feel the comfort of Jasper's embrace or a good-night kiss. But Saturday gave way to Sunday, and in the end, she was deprived of any measure of his presence, for he did not come. More than a little worried, she reluctantly took refuge in her cold and lonely bed a scant few hours before dawn.

Alice didn't always make it to church, as she was oft-times busy, but nothing short of a major catastrophe was going to keep her away the morning after Jasper failed to visit. She missed him, far worse than she expected to. At odd moments over the previous few days and nights, she had found herself wishing she could speak with him, to share her thoughts or feelings on a matter, to hear his opinion . . . to hear his voice. The memory of the compliments he had given her warmed her heart, and recalling his passionate caresses heated her blood. But an icy chill travelled down her spine when she considered the possibility he had changed his mind about their arrangement, that he might have stayed away on purpose.

Acutely aware of Jasper's presence, Alice watched his approach out of the corner of her eye from where she stood at the front of the church conversing with the Swan sisters and her half-sister, Cynthia.

"Miss Brandon. How do you do?" he greeted her, his mother and Peter at his side.

"Mr Whitlock, Lady Whitlock." Alice bobbed a curtsey then stood back while Jasper introduced his mother to the other young ladies, Ladies Brandon and Westcott, the Kingswoods, and all the other members of Forkton society who crowded to the fore.

Jasper's odd place in the scheme of things—a gentleman of notable heritage who was now employed in a less-than-gentlemanly role—hadn't set him apart as comprehensively as it might have under other circumstances. In light of Edward's patronage and stalwart friendship, their local society had made allowances for Jasper's blurring of the proper lines, granting him a measure of acceptance. But that was nothing to the looks of admiration he received from the young ladies of Forkton now that he stood, elbow to elbow, with a dowager baroness.

Alice couldn't help wondering how long the fawning would last once they realised his mother and sister, who was too poorly to attend, were not illustrious visitors but penniless relatives seeking succour. She didn't care, of course—all she cared about was Jasper, whom she could barely make out through the crowd that kept forcing her back . . . and back. He glanced her way several times, and she wanted to think there was a message for her in his eyes. But it wasn't until order had been restored and she took her place in the pew beside Rosalie and Tanya that he was able to speak with her directly. His mother, deeming it unnecessary to wait for an invitation, had insisted on being seated next to Isabella and Edward. Turning around from the bench in front, Jasper eyed Alice solemnly.

"I just want to say how grateful I am, Miss Brandon, for your care of my sister. She wasn't up to attending today, but she sends her regards."

"You are most welcome, Mr Whitlock." Alice made sure to speak without any particular inflection to her voice, certainly not one that might betray the roiling state of her emotions. "Please give Miss Whitlock my best wishes and tell her I shall visit again shortly."

"This afternoon?" His eyes lit up with an eagerness that assuaged at least some of her doubts. She nodded, afraid if she spoke her relief would be blatant. Lowering his voice, a little, but not so low as to be too inappropriate, he continued, "Do you think you might be able to bring a sleeping draught for my mother? She has not yet adjusted to country living and is wont to roam the house in the middle of the night . . . until _all_ _hours_."

His eyes widened knowingly, and Alice was forced to bite back a laugh.

"We can't have that," she murmured, relieved beyond measure to know that it wasn't lack of desire on his part but his mother's meddlesome presence that had prevented him from visiting the night before.

Unfortunately, Alice's reprieve from anxiety was short-lived.

The Reverend Swan was far from being a "hellfire and brimstone" preacher, but his words seemed extra pointed that morning. The emphasis of his sermon was on the damage inflicted by gossip and covetousness, sins not many of the souls present could consider themselves entirely free of. But when he recounted some of the other sins the apostle Paul listed and the word "fornication" passed his lips, Alice was hard-pressed not to flinch.

It wasn't like that between her and Jasper—sinful. They had come to an arrangement based on their love for one another, a morally acceptable compromise of sorts, and she had nothing to feel ashamed about.

Her shoulders sagging as she pressed back against the pew, Alice concluded their actions would be easier to justify if they weren't accompanied by a need for secrecy and the potential for complete and utter ruin if they were found out.

It didn't help matters that, after the service, Lady Whitlock bestowed upon Rosalie her almost undivided attention. Her eyes had lit up when she had discovered the size of the girl's fortune, and it wasn't difficult to see where the penniless dowager baroness' aspirations for her son lay.

Alice could hardly blame her, as she had come to a similar conclusion herself before discovering Jasper had feelings for her and acknowledging those she felt for him. Rosalie, lovely as ever in a light blue silk gown and cobalt pelisse and bonnet, so much more attractive than Alice's mourning garb, would make a fitting wife, and she wouldn't even have to give up her charitable pursuits when she wed. Her income would restore Jasper's position in society and change his life dramatically. It was no wonder Lady Whitlock was fawning all over the girl, shifting her focus only when Isabella and Edward approached, her expression betraying rapturous delight at their presence.

Her stomach in knots with a mixture of guilt, shame, and jealousy, emotions she was unaccustomed to feeling, Alice was about to slip away when Rosalie's gaze sought hers in the crowd. Alice steeled herself in expectation of a look of triumph from the young lady she had once counted as a friend. But Rosalie's expression was knowing rather than disdainful and, if Alice wasn't mistaken, held a hint of sympathy. With the sting of tears smarting her eyes, she turned away, intending to walk home in the rain rather than wait and see about getting a lift in Jasper's carriage as she had planned. Her behaviour bordering on impolite, she kept her responses to the other parishioners brief and refused to be waylaid. Her escape was almost complete when the one voice that would make her stop, other than Jasper's, and he would have created a scandal if he had chased after her, called her name.

Peter.

With a small but genuine smile on her face, Alice turned to wait while the lad ducked and weaved his way through the crowd. It was a pleasure to see the colour had returned to his cheeks and his vitality improved, evidenced by his running the final yards to where she stood just inside the door to the church. Pausing long enough in his headlong dash to sketch a quick bow, he panted, "How do you do?" before throwing himself at her legs. Not wanting to block the exit, and concerned about the spectacle they were making, she shuffled sideways until they were tucked in a shadowed corner at the rear of the church.

"Peter, what's wrong?" she asked, stroking his downy hair. He looked up at her with big, blue eyes, so much like his father's, and Alice's heart clenched.

"Don't you like me anymore, Miss Brandon?"

"Of course, I like you. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Because I didn't get to talk to you earlier, and then you were going to leave without saying goodbye." Tears welled in his eyes, but before she could query the excessive reaction, he added in a small voice, "And because Grandmother said you're not really my friend, you only take care of me 'cos Papa pays you, like Mrs Carter."

Alice clenched the fabric of Peter's jacket in lieu of squeezing Lady Whitlock's elegantly adorned neck. It seemed the battle lines had been drawn, though Alice wasn't sure why the other woman was bothering. Alice and Jasper could never be more than acquaintances, not publicly, so the woman couldn't lose . . . and Alice couldn't win.

But she could reassure the boy clinging to her skirts.

Tugging his arms free so she could kneel, Alice took hold of him by the shoulders. "Master Peter Whitlock, you are and will always be very special to me."

"Truly?"

Alice nodded, and he wrapped his thin little arms around her neck, hugging her tight. Although no one seemed to be watching too closely, Alice remained wary of drawing censure and planned to allow the lad's embrace for only a moment. But then he whispered in her ear, "I wish you were my mama."

A lump formed in her throat, and she hid her face against his hair, her nostrils filling with the scent of soap and boy and dreams she didn't dare entertain. Swallowing hard, she forced a cheery expression to her face and drew back. "I thought you preferred Miss Tanya."

Peter's brow creased for a second, then a cheeky smile twisted his lip. "She could still visit me, 'cos I do like her stories, and she gives me sweets, but I'd like _you_ to be my mother. You're my favourite person."

A warm glow filled Alice's chest, but she knew she must quell this line of thinking. "Peter, if I were going to be anyone's mother, I would like it to be you, but my work doesn't allow for marriage." Steeling herself, she continued, speaking the words she knew to be true but hadn't wanted to face. "It is up to your father to provide you with a mother one day . . . a proper lady. What about Miss Rosalie? I am sure she would make a good mother, and she is very pretty." A bitter taste formed in her mouth at the thought of how such a union would be welcomed by Jasper's mother.

Peter seemed less impressed. "You are pretty, too," he said with a shrug. "And Papa likes you more, _lots_ more. He smiles whenever he says your name, and I heard him say he _loves_ you."

"When did you hear that?" Alice tightened her grip on his shoulders.

"The other day when you were talking on the stairs. He was holding your hand."

Alice slowly shook her head.

"You don't _want_ to marry Papa?" Peter's face crumpled, and Alice hated having to disappoint him.

"No, I don't," she said as firmly as she could muster, when "can't" was the painful truth. "Your father and I are just friends, nothing more."

At the sound of a man clearing his throat, she looked up in alarm. To her relief, it was Jasper, his face pale and expression severe. A quick glance around assured her they had not likely been overheard, which left her with a painful conclusion as to why he looked so displeased.

"I wasn't encouraging him." She stood and held Peter off to the side when he would have continued to cling. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Yes, I heard." Jasper's glance slid over her face then rested on his son's. "What have I told you, Peter? Miss Brandon is a busy lady with an important position in the community and is not interested in getting married. You mustn't harangue her . . . pester her," he clarified when the boy looked puzzled. "And you are not to speak of this again." He raised a stern finger when Peter opened his mouth to protest, then met Alice's troubled gaze. "I apologise for the imposition. You must allow us to give you a ride home, as the weather has turned. To save you a trip, I'll collect the sleeping draught for my mother at the same time; that's if you think it is still required?" he added, his tone uncertain.

 _Silly, silly man,_ Alice wanted to mutter at the realisation of what was bothering him. He had taken her words to heart in a way she had not intended—as a rejection. She wanted him as much as, if not more than, ever. She just couldn't marry him.

Shoving aside her trepidations about the morality or wisdom of their actions, she spoke with sincerity. "As far as I'm concerned, a sleeping draught for your mother is essential for her well-being and that of the rest of your household. My hope is she will take it this very night and sleep soundly until morning, leaving you in peace. Is that no longer your hope?"

Colour she had once mocked, but now delighted in seeing, appeared as two red slashes on Jasper's cheekbones. Next came a quirking of his lips, the half-smile almost identical to the one his son had given her a few moments before. Alice mirrored it, relief and desire mingling in her belly.

"I shan't be relying on hope. If my mother is disinclined to take it or, for some reason, unaffected, I won't be home to be disturbed. I have decided that I shall be out this evening regardless . . . until late."

"You have thought of a suitable excuse?" Alice leaned in as close as she dared.

"Not yet, but have no fear, Miss Brandon. I shall come up with something."

 **~D &D~**

 **Thank you for reading. I would sort of like to hear your thoughts, though I fear they will be along the lines of _when are these two ninnies going to stop worrying about what everyone else thinks and just get married?_ Sadly, it wouldn't fit the era, but it would certainly be easier on our nerves!**

 **xx Elise**

 **PS: To the guest reviewer wanting to know how to download my stories onto an ipad, please login and PM me or you can email me at elisedesallier at gmail dot com and I'll see if I can help you.**


	25. Overwhelmed

**Gosh, I never expected this little tale would cause such a divisive response from my readers. I remember struggling to come up with a way for them to be together without first being married, as I couldn't imagine my readers appreciating a slow burn that lasted the entire story. Jane Austen might have gotten away with it, but I know I wouldn't! Sadly, I didn't think that I would hear Alice described as a slut and Jasper as a coward quite so many times, or at all, if I'm honest. I'm so glad the majority of you, well the ones who sign in and review at any rate, have taken them to heart and aren't judging them quite so harshly.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

C **hapter 23**

 **Overwhelmed**

Alice kept herself busy for the remainder of the afternoon, but the hours after dark dragged like boots stuck in mud. Impatient for Jasper's arrival, and feeling lonely without Edith's company, she convinced herself it wasn't too terrible a thing they were doing. Lady Whitlock would, no doubt, disagree, but it wasn't as if Alice was keeping Jasper from wedding another . . . not really. His pride wouldn't allow him to marry some woman just to rescue his finances. Nor did he wish to be encumbered again with a wife who spurned his interest and affection.

The problem was she imagined Rosalie would return it gladly if given half the chance. As to Jasper's fear that the revelation of his family's downfall would send any eligible lady scurrying for shelter, the Swan sisters hadn't been born to wealth and were made of sterner stuff.

The honourable thing would be to encourage an alliance between him and Rosalie, but Alice's chest tightened at the mere thought. Imagining the two of them together, their nuptials and the inevitable consummation of their marriage, was like a stab to her heart. As to picturing another woman raising Peter and bearing Jasper more children, it was more than she could countenance. Yet bear it she might well have to, as it was unlikely he would be satisfied with their arrangement indefinitely. Not now that his mother and sister were on the scene, demanding a standard of living he could not provide without the aid of a well-dowered wife.

Despite Jasper's belief to the contrary, it was obvious to Alice there was no shortage of qualified ladies vying to snag the hand of such a handsome and well-connected gentleman, regardless of his brother's reputation. Harold was a baron, after all.

She liked to think she had forgotten how significant an elevated rank was to those of the _ton,_ how much they were willing to forgive or ignore in exchange for a title or even close association with one. But in reality, she hadn't wanted to face a truth that did her such a great disservice. Jasper's reasons for remaining single were practically invalid. At the very least, they were diminishing before her eyes. Alice's reasons, on the other hand, were as stalwart and immovable as ever.

Close to tears, she was of two minds whether to snuff the lantern and ignore his knock when it came a little after nine o'clock. But desire overrode her conscience, and she opened the door just far enough for him to squeeze inside.

"No one saw you?"

Heartsick, she savoured his appearance while he removed his heavy overcoat and hung it on a hook near the door. His gold locks were wind-tousled, his reddish beard almost fully restored to its previous glory, and his blue eyes intense when they sought hers.

"I was careful," he said, pulling her into his embrace. Rather than a jacket, he wore a knitted guernsey, casual attire for a gentleman. It was soft beneath her cheek, and she hugged him close. For the space of a few seconds, she considered telling him of her inner battle, of her fear that she was keeping him from making a beneficial alliance. But then he groaned her name, burrowing his face in the crook of her neck as he tangled his fingers in her long, loose tresses.

"I have dreamed about seeing your hair unbound." Raising his head, his gaze roamed freely over her lightly clad form, and she couldn't help feeling pleased at the blatant admiration in his eyes. She had made sure to keep the fire stoked, so the cottage was toasty warm, allowing her to dress only in a nightgown. With her hair cascading around her shoulders, she was in a state of dishabille that none other than her aunt had ever witnessed. But since he had already seen her naked, there was no need for chagrin. As to her other concerns, his obvious desire for her forced them aside—at least for the moment.

"You kept fondling my braid the other night, so I thought you might like it if I left it down," she murmured, gesturing to her hair.

"I do. I love it as I love you, my dear Alice."

He caught her lips in a hungry kiss, his mouth slanting over hers, tasting and teasing. He kept one hand tangled in her hair, holding her head in place, while stroking the length of her back with the other. When he reached her bottom, he cupped one of the soft globes and pulled her against him, leaving her in no doubt as to the state of his arousal. Finally having firsthand experience of how much more was available to them had sent her desire to fever pitch. Although, she had to admit that kissing alone was a most pleasurable activity, one she would happily engage in indefinitely if he desired.

But they didn't have all night, and she had dreams yet to be fulfilled.

Stepping back, Alice trailed her hand down Jasper's arm until she reached his hand and entwined their fingers. With a gentle tug, she drew him through the door that led towards the bed with its folded coverlet and freshly laundered sheets. She had prepared for their encounter with deliberation, not just the bed but her body—and not only by bathing and dabbing lavender scent at her pulse points.

Inserting the vinegar-infused sea sponge she had acquired for the purpose of guarding her womb from his seed had been a strange experience. Her fingers had rarely delved inside her body before, never lingering with such sweet intimacies in mind. As she had brushed against the tender folds, the firm and, if she wasn't mistaken, swollen nub at the top of her sex had tingled. Curious, she had brushed it with her thumb, a gasp catching in her throat at the pleasure that throbbed in her lower belly and the pulses that squeezed the fingers poked inside her. It was a taste of what she had felt when she had reached her climax with Jasper's assistance, and she could only imagine how wonderful it would feel when it occurred with his member thrusting deep inside her.

Alice had not thought to feel such things by her own hand, though she had heard whisper of the possibility. A lack of privacy, and the implicit understanding that such actions were both sordid and sinful, had prevented any experimentation on her part. In offering herself to Jasper, she had forced such concerns from her mind, as best she could, and now found herself eager to discover what could be achieved with her fingers alone. A few moments of gentle, and then more vigorous, stroking proved the rumours were true, but it was Jasper's name that fell from her lips when she found a measure of release. Far from being diminished by the experience, her desire for him was intensified a hundredfold. While it was gratifying, in a way, to learn she could ease the ache herself, there had been no comparison to the pleasure she had found in his arms.

"Make love to me, Jasper," she said when they came to a halt beside her bed. "Not with pretty words or gifts or poetry but your body."

"It would be my greatest delight."

He pulled her close for a kiss that began as a tender brushing of lips but grew hungrier as her lips widened. His tongue entered her mouth, a precursor to how he would join their bodies, and she did not attempt to stifle her moans. When he eventually released her, Alice swayed on her feet, and his lips curled in a satisfied smirk. Too befuddled by arousal to be offended, any retort she might have summoned died on her thrumming lips at the look of awe that appeared in his eyes.

"What you do to me, Alice. I never imagined it was possible to desire someone so greatly, to want the way I want you."

"Then have me." She gathered the skirt of her nightgown in her fingers to lift it over her head, but he stilled her with a touch.

"Let me do that." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, and she nodded, her own smile bordering on smug. "Just give me a moment," he added, taking a seat on the wooden chair and undoing the buckles on his shoes. "I couldn't believe I left my boots on last time. It was disrespectful of me, but I came almost straight from working, and the blasted things are incredibly difficult to remove without the aid of a valet. I'm thinking of giving up on Hessians and just wearing workmen's boots, the ones with laces. Either way, I am sorry. I didn't come here expecting . . ."

Alice's cheeks flushed. She hadn't been expecting it either, but there was no need for him to apologise. Nothing he had done had offended her.

"I didn't mind your boots." Unable to resist, she stepped to his side and rested her body against his shoulder while he removed his shoes and stockings. Running her fingers through his hair, she gently scratched his scalp, smiling when he stilled, closed his eyes, and hummed in enjoyment. She leaned over to press a kiss to the top of his head, and in a blink, his arms were around her waist and his face buried in the valley between her breasts.

Alice held him close, loving his warmth and the feeling of acceptance and belonging that flooded her. If all they could have was this, it would be enough.

"I could stay like this forever," he murmured, echoing her thoughts. "But there's so much more I want to share with you." Lifting his head, he cupped her cheek before asking, "Is there anything in particular you want of me?"

"To see you naked." Alice urged him to stand and helped divest him of his guernsey and undershirt. It left him clad only in a pair of dark-coloured trousers, and she set about undoing the buttons at the waist.

"I love your eagerness." His words were followed by a husky laugh, and her fingers stilled. An unexpected wave of uncertainty washed over her, and she raised her hands to rest against his bare chest. But when she lifted her gaze to his face, she saw only tenderness.

"Not too _wanton_?"

"Heavens no." He cupped her neck with his hands, his thumbs lightly tracing the line of her jaw. "I can't begin to express what it means to me, knowing you desire me as much as I do you. Having encountered fear, disdain, even repulsion, believe me when I say your openness and affection are gifts I shall forever cherish."

"I am sorry your experience with your wife was so painful, but she was very young. Not all ladies are as repressed," Alice felt compelled to point out. "There are some who would welcome the attentions of a handsome, virile gentleman such as yourself."

"I know." He smiled. "For I have found just such a lady, which makes me the luckiest man alive."

"Oh, you." Alice huffed a breath of laughter and pretended to nip at his fingers. Unafraid, he brushed her lower lip with his thumb, groaning when she bit it gently then soothed the padded flesh with a kiss.

"I guess I have proved my virility, but do you truly think I am handsome?" he asked in a low voice that hinted at the insecurity she suspected had plagued him for many years.

"Devilishly." She lifted up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek. "Angelically," she whispered before giving the other cheek the same attention. "Wonderfully." She pressed her lips to his before adding in a serious tone, "You are everything a lady could want in a man, Jasper Whitlock, everything and more."

"I don't care what other ladies want. Only you." Wrapping his arms around her, he captured her lips in a kiss that was brief but almost bruising in its intensity. "And if my opinion counts for anything, you should know you are breathtakingly beautiful and utterly captivating."

"Your opinion is the only one that counts," Alice murmured, offering no resistance when he took hold of the hem of her gown and slowly raised it over her head.

Illuminated by the dim lantern light, she stood perfectly still while his gaze caressed the curves and planes of her body. A shiver coursed through her, more from anticipation than cold, but it broke the spell, and he shoved his trousers and undergarments down his legs then kicked them off his feet. His member bobbed into view, and Alice would have liked a moment to study it in detail, but he wasted no time in drawing her down with him onto the bed. In the process, his appendage became trapped between them. Although hidden, its size and rigidity meant it was far from forgotten, but before she could request a proper viewing, he pressed his body to hers. His firm muscles moulded to her soft curves as their limbs entwined, and curiosity gave way to a contemplation of the sensations coursing through her. The feel of his smooth, warm skin created a thrum of excitement wherever their bodies touched, and her lungs expanded with a rushed intake of air.

"My God, that feels glorious."

She laughed at his awestruck declaration. "I was just thinking the same thing."

"Which goes to show how well-suited we are." His lips sought hers, putting a temporary end to their conversation . . . the sort that required words, at any rate.

Tender with one another and still somewhat timid, they explored—breasts and soft belly, muscled chest and taut abdomen—learning each other's mysteries with caresses and tentative strokes.

"I can't believe you're allowing me to see these, let alone touch them." His tone was reverential as he gently cupped the pale curve of her breast with his palm, his thumb teasing the rose-coloured nipple.

"You like breasts?" she asked with a giddy laugh.

He eyed her pointedly. "I like _your_ breasts."

She knew she was being ridiculous, but watching his large hands engulfing her modestly sized breasts, she couldn't help feeling a tad insecure. "I am sorry they are not bigger."

"Don't you dare apologise for perfection." His stern expression softened as he lowered his head to nuzzle her nipple. When he opened his mouth and drew the taut peak inside, suckling it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, the breath caught in her throat. The exquisite sensation tightened an imaginary cord running from her breast to a place deep in her belly. Whimpering, she tightened her thighs in response to the pleasure pulsing at their apex.

Jasper hummed, his eyes closed and lashes fluttering as if experiencing an ecstasy of his own. With his soft beard brushing against her tender flesh, she savoured the intimacy of the act while refusing to acknowledge the tinge of sadness she felt that a babe, Jasper's babe, would never mimic his actions. When his tongue circled then flicked across her nipple repeatedly, she was glad of the distraction, the pleasure intensifying until her body arched off the bed like a bow.

A cry fell from her lips, and Jasper obliged her wordless plea for more. His hand smoothed down her belly, his fingers tangling in the soft curls at the juncture of her thighs before delving into the secret folds beneath. Alice stilled, her breath trapped in her throat, as she concentrated on the combined sensations of his lips and tongue tugging at her breast and his fingers caressing her slick folds. He circled her opening then stroked inside, tentatively at first then more boldly as her hips rose to meet his hand. Pleasure curled and twisted inside her, and she writhed on the bed, seeking the rapture she had already come to crave even after so recent an introduction . . . and her earlier indulgence.

Lifting his head from her breast, Jasper looked to where his fingers pleasured her before meeting her hooded gaze. "Is that nice?"

"More than nice." Her courage mounting with her rising passion, she guided his thumb to the place she had discovered could bring her even more pleasure. He raised a brow, and she responded with an impish smile.

"I may have done a little exploring . . . which reminds me. I have inserted the sponge, so you won't have to withdraw this time."

"You did?"

His features went slack, his mouth dropped open, and with a groan he lowered his head to nestle in the crook of her neck. When she felt a slickness on her hip where his member prodded against her, a frown marred her brow.

While most women who spoke to her of such matters were grateful when the ordeal was not prolonged, she had known of a few wives to request a medicament to address their husband's inability to, er . . . last the distance. While she was confident Jasper wouldn't leave her wanting, she would be disappointed if they were required to forego the main event because he was unable to continue.

"It's not over, is it?" she asked, unable to hide her disappointment.

His body shook, a laughing groan escaping his lips. "No, it's not over."

"Good. I am glad." Alice pushed back against his still rigid member where it pressed against her, assuring her he was telling the truth. When he resumed his task of bringing her pleasure, fingers questing inside her body and thumb gently circling, she could do nought but writhe in response.

"Are you sure it is safe?"

She hummed before murmuring against his heated skin, "I want you inside me when I . . . when you . . ."

After guiding her onto her back, he covered her body and positioned himself between her thighs. With his weight on one elbow, and their bodies aligned, he pressed forward before hesitating.

"You are not too tender?"

Replying with another moan, Alice gripped the taut muscles of his back, revelling in the feel of them rippling beneath her fingers, and urged him on. For all that he was so different to her, his size and strength and masculinity, they fit together perfectly. With no doubt that the adoration and intensity of his gaze was mirrored by her own, she widened her legs, opening her body to him as he pushed slowly inside.

It did hurt, a little, but she welcomed the pain, knowing that only he could ease the empty ache inside. She couldn't imagine another man ever taking his place, in her body or her heart. That he had lain with other women wasn't something she liked to dwell upon, but it thrilled her to know she was the first one to bring him such joy in the coupling, the first woman he had ever loved. She wanted to be the only woman in his life, for now and always, but it wasn't something she could demand of him, or even guarantee if she did. Forcing the errant thought aside, Alice refused to think of anything but the feel of their bodies joining, determined to be satisfied that their hearts, for now, were as one.

He moved slowly, giving her body time to adjust, his gaze riveted on her face.

"So beautiful," he whispered, lowering his head to taste her lips before brushing soft kisses along the line of her jaw and nuzzling beneath her ear. After a faltering start, her hips rose in time with his steady strokes as he moved in and out of her body, filling her and driving her towards fulfilment. All the while he kissed and teased and suckled the shockingly sensitive place at the curve of her neck until Alice was whimpering with need.

When he lifted up enough to reach a hand between them and squeeze her breast, tweaking the nipple between his forefinger and thumb, she cried out at the added delight. Then he dipped his hand lower, caressing her hip and the curve of her bottom before pressing against the back of her thigh. Responding to his unspoken request, she raised her knees and wrapped her legs around his hips, the change of angle allowing him to reach places within her she had not known existed before that moment.

"Oh God." Her body clenched deep inside, squeezing him as he thrust harder.

"Like that?" he panted against her ear, and she whimpered, her body undulating beneath him as her hips rose to meet his quickening thrusts. With each stroke, the ripples and flutters of pleasure increased, each one more delicious than the last. She gripped him so tight she feared his back would bear the marks of her nails, but Alice was at a loss to restrain herself.

It was too much.

It wasn't quite enough.

And then it was.

With a loud, inarticulate cry, Alice rode the wave of pleasure like a sailboat on a stormy sea. It wasn't something she had ever seen in person, but she had read about the immense power of the ocean. Surely, only something as majestic as nature in all its glory could compare to the wonder of finding rapture in Jasper's arms and feeling him come apart in hers. His body shuddered and quaked, his member pulsing inside her, as hers tightened around him in time with the rhythmic waves of ecstasy that continued to roll through her. For long, joy-filled moments, his groans matched her cries, until finally they lay quiet and spent.

"I have never known four days to feel like a lifetime, not even when I was in the midst of battle." Jasper huffed, Alice's head rising and falling with the movement of his chest. "I thought I would be driven insane last night when Mother refused to retire. It was almost three in the morning before she finally took to her bed, too late to disturb you."

"I wouldn't have minded." A blush warmed Alice's cheeks at the admission. How wanton she sounded, how desperate for him, a state of affairs she had just proven conclusively. But then again, so had he. "Do you know why she couldn't sleep?" she asked.

Jasper harrumphed. "She _said_ it was because she is accustomed to attending balls and soirees and not returning home until the wee hours. But the Little Season is over, and this close to Christmas, most of the _ton_ would have packed up and headed for their country estates. It was as if she _knew_ I was just waiting to make my escape."

"I told you she suspects." Alice traced patterns in the soft, curly hair that formed an inverted triangle on his chest. "She wants you to make a match with Rosalie."

Rolling onto his side, Jasper propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at Alice.

"I am aware of what my mother wants." Ignoring her brazenly bared body, he leaned down and kissed Alice's pouting lips. "But _I_ don't want Rosalie, her ten thousand pounds, or any other heiress my mother sets her sights on. I only want you."

"But our situation is far from ideal, and she would make an exceptional wife and moth—"

"Hush." Jasper pressed a finger to her lips. "I love you, Alice. I think of you constantly—awake, asleep, when I am supposed to be focused on other things," he admitted with a wry smile. "If I am honest, you have plagued my thoughts from the first moment I laid eyes on you. I was just too stubborn to admit the reason for my obsession . . . and too afraid that you could never return my feelings."

"Oh, but I do." Alice lifted her arms and welcomed him into her embrace. Rolling over her, he aligned his long, lean body with her more curvaceous one and nestled his hips in the cradle of her thighs. With his weight pressing her into the mattress, it wasn't easy to breath, but she didn't care. The knowledge that his feelings for her ran deeply was far more important than air.

For a few moments, at any rate.

"Jasper." She pushed against his shoulders, and he lifted his torso enough for her to draw in a breath, one she used to fuel a kiss that would soon leave them both panting for air. Widening her legs, she slid a hand down between them, stroking the curls on his chest, then the smooth ridges of his stomach, and finally the sensitive and surprisingly soft skin of his groin. While he nuzzled her neck, she encircled his hardened member, guiding it from where it pressed against her hip to the tingling flesh between her thighs.

"Again?" He lifted his head to look down at her from beneath hooded lids. "Are you sure?"

"Never more so." Tilting her hips as he pushed forward, she received him into her body, sighing with delight at the feel of their joining. His thrusts were lazier this time, at least to start with. Moving slowly, he pushed deep into her body before withdrawing almost to the tip. Shivering beneath him, Alice revelled in the steady rhythm, one that kept time with the kisses he pressed to her lips and the soft strokes of his tongue as it explored her mouth. When their breathing became too laboured for kissing, he brushed his lips across her jaw and trailed them down the side of her neck. In return, around the sounds of her moans and whimpers, she kissed his shoulder and chest and wherever her lips could reach. Stroking up and down his back, her questing fingers eventually found purchase on his taut backside, urging him to increase the pace.

Jasper raised his head, eyeing her with concern. "I don't want to hurt you. Aren't you sore after the first time? I was . . . rough. I got carried away."

"No more than I did, and right now I feel nothing but pleasure." Alice laughed and wrapped her legs around his thighs. "If I _am_ tender tomorrow, it will be well worth it . . . and you are forgetting my trade. I am sure I have a salve or posset that will ease my discomfort."

"In that case." He waggled his eyebrows and began to thrust harder until the only sounds were their sighs, moans, and eventual exultant cries when ecstasy overwhelmed them.

 **~D &D~**

 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**

 **xx Elise**


	26. Opportunity

**Thank you so much for your kindness and support. You guys really lifted my spirits today. Thanks, also, to the readers who reviewed for the first time. Much appreciated!**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 24**

 **Opportunity**

There wasn't a chance in a thousand Jasper could keep the smile from his face in the ensuing days. He had never been happier, never known such delight was possible.

His son was in better health than he had dared hoped for, acting like a typical lad in all regards other than his diet. Even that was being expanded almost daily due to Mrs Carter's culinary experimentations. Not all of her efforts were successful, but the failures were easily borne . . . or fed to Peter's new puppy, the latest addition to the ever-growing Whitlock household and an excellent decision on Jasper's part. Boy and dog were inseparable. The ear-to-ear smile on his son's face was worth every middle-of-the-night howl or middle-of-the-hallway puddle.

His mother wasn't quite as forgiving, having ruined an expensive pair of slippers stepping in one such accident. Fortunately, for all her faults, she seemed keen to make up for her previous neglect of her grandson, and she assured Peter she would not insist the puppy be banished despite her initial cries for its immediate demise.

Penelope was enamoured of both her nephew and the puppy whose name was still in contention. Peter couldn't decide between Spot, for the white splodge on the mixed-breed's otherwise tan-coloured back, and Aladdin, for the hero of his favourite tale.

Jasper appreciated his sister's patience with their less-than-ideal living arrangements. He had moved both his mother and sister into the master bedroom, happily relegating himself to the smaller, less cheery room he had shown them to the first night. He should have given up his bed immediately, but he had been so flummoxed by their unexpected arrival, he had not thought it through. It hadn't been at all surprising to hear about the histrionics that had occurred after he had been called away their first morning at their new home. Thankfully, Alice had calmed the situation before he had returned home. He would have to see about hiring a maid dedicated to their service—if he could stretch his taut finances a little farther. He could have done without the additional stress, but they were there to stay, and he had high hopes for Penelope now that she was under Alice's care.

Alice.

Jasper adored his son, and he would do whatever was necessary to provide for and care for his sister and mother—within reason. Another marriage of someone else's convenience was out of the question. But it was Alice's presence in his life that filled his heart to overflowing. She truly was a miracle worker, in more ways than one. The greatest miracle was that she loved him. From the way she gave herself to him so freely, he was in no doubt that she desired and even adored him every bit as much as he did her.

If only he could marry her, properly and publicly, then his life would be in all ways perfection.

"Is that a frown I see?"

Edward's query broke into Jasper's thoughts, and he lifted his head from the ledger he was supposed to be perusing. His weekly meeting in his employer's office at the manor was taking twice as long as usual, the blame fixed firmly on Jasper's inability to focus.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You grimaced and rubbed your chest." Edward sat back in his high-backed leather chair and crossed his arms. "I have been watching you this morning, trying to decide what's put that smile on your face. Do you realise you have been humming? I have never seen you in such good form, and while I can appreciate you have been bereft of female familial affection, I can't imagine your mother's or sister's presence is the cause of such rampant joy."

"I . . . I have no idea what you are talking about." Jasper ducked his head in a futile attempt to hide his flaming cheeks.

"I suspect there is a woman involved, just not one to whom you are related," Edward persisted, but Jasper refused to be baited and instead pretended to study the column of figures before him.

"If I am not mistaken," Edward said, "my erstwhile superior officer, a doughty fellow by all regards, has succumbed to the lure of the fairer sex. What I am dying to know is the identity of the lady in question. Therein lies the reason for the grimace—that brief, but poignant, indication that the association is a cause for both pleasure _and_ pain. Would you care to enlighten a curious fellow, or must I continue to speculate?"

Jasper couldn't believe that Edward had chosen now, of all times, to develop a heightened degree of perception. It had taken him long enough to discern Isabella's interest was more than sisterly, although maybe that was it. His experience with marital bliss and relational harmony must have honed his ability to detect them in others. Not that Jasper was wed to Alice, which was the two-edged sword with which he was currently wrestling.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jasper repeated, at a loss as to how else to respond.

"Come now, Jasper. I thought we were friends." Edward stood and limped over to the sideboard, his injured leg always more troublesome when the weather was damp. After pouring them both a brandy, he indicated Jasper should join him by taking one of the more comfortable chairs by the fire. "You have to know how much courage it took for me to come to you after Isabella and I were married and ask your advice about . . . well, you know."

Jasper smiled at the memory of that fateful discussion. His shock at learning Isabella had been eager to consummate her marriage had been far greater than Edward's request for advice on how to prevent his wife from conceiving. Having experienced two unforgettable interludes with Alice, he no longer disbelieved that a lady could enjoy conjugal relations as much as her husband . . . or lover, as the case may be.

"There you go again." Edward sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Smiling like a lovesick puppy one minute then looking like you're in pain the next. The only thing I know that can induce such rapid and extreme variations in mood is developing feelings for a woman and not being able to act upon them. Does she not return your affection? Give me the lady's name and I shall happily mediate on your behalf. Although I shall have my work cut out for me if you have gone and fallen for Alice."

"Why? What's wrong with Miss Brandon? I thought you approved of a match between us," Jasper demanded then stiffened, realising his mistake. "Not that I am interested in making a match with her . . . or anyone else for that matter. I haven't fallen for anybody. You are imagining things."

Edward's brows took on a disbelieving slant. "For your sake, I hope it is not Alice, for while I hold her in the highest esteem, I fear she is even more stubborn than Isabella. If she doesn't want to marry you, changing her mind will be nigh on impossible."

"It's not just me, she doesn't want to marry anyone," Jasper blurted before ruing, again, his inability to keep his mouth shut. "I mean, she's not in a position to marry because of her commitment to her work."

"I see."

Jasper feared Edward did indeed.

"Have you asked her?"

"To marry me?"

Edward nodded, and Jasper half rose from his seat.

"Why would I do that? She would have to give up her profession, which would be a waste of her talents and a great loss to the community. Besides, I already told you we are just friends. I don't know why you keep beating this dead horse, especially as it has the potential to reflect badly on Miss Brandon. If you are not careful, you could start a rumour that could damage her reputation."

"There's no need to go on the defensive. Or the attack." Edward cocked his head to the side. "You have always been a man of your word, so I won't make the mistake of assuming you are protesting too much . . ."

"Good. Because I am not. I am only protective of Miss Brandon because I owe her Peter's life."

"When put like that I can hardly blame you, as I owe her the lives of my entire family."

Jasper breathed a quiet sigh, but his relief at Edward's apparent acceptance of his excuses was short-lived.

"I still contest that a woman is the source of your variable mood." The viscount gave him a knowing look. "Since it is apparently _not_ Miss Brandon, I can only surmise your interest lies in a different direction. Your mother seemed very taken with Rosalie."

Jasper groaned, and a triumphant smile appeared on Edward's face.

"I knew it! And I bet I know the source of your reluctance. You are worried I won't approve, but I can assure you, you'll have my unequivocal support if you decide to court her."

Swigging a large gulp of his brandy, Jasper prayed for wisdom. Actually, he would have preferred a hole to open up and swallow him. "That is very decent of you," he said in a shaky voice. "But you are aware of my situation, and a gentleman in name only is hardly husband material."

"If that is all that is stopping you, have no fear. I am sure I can find a suitable estate nearby to gift you as a wedding present."

One look at Edward's broad smile assured Jasper he wasn't speaking in jest, and his heart sank. This wasn't going at all as he had hoped.

"But my work . . . you need me."

"True." Edward nodded thoughtfully. "I'd be sorry to lose you as my estate manager, but I didn't expect to keep a man of your calibre in my employ indefinitely. Besides, I could always seek your opinion on the more important matters, and it would be worth it to have Rosalie well settled. Now, if I could just find as honourable a husband for Tanya."

Edward was acting like Jasper's marriage to Rosalie was a fait accompli, and a dozen arguments raced through Jasper's mind. Unfortunately, he feared any one of them might give away the true object of his affection. Letting Edward think he was interested in his sister-in-law was a better outcome than revealing the nature of his relationship with Alice, but it felt like a betrayal of the woman who owned his heart. In the end, he muttered something inane about Edward's assumptions being premature before insisting it was time he departed.

"I wouldn't worry if I were you." Edward slapped him soundly on the back when the two men stood. "I have seen Isabella's sister looking your way a time or two, though I would advise you to show caution in regards to your friendship with Miss Brandon. My guess is that young ladies can be prone to jealousy, though I suppose you _could_ use that to your advantage to try and secure Rosalie's interest. Has that been your intention all along?"

"What? No!" Jasper decided to try another tack in the face of Edward's relentlessness. "I would never use my friendship with Miss Brandon in such a manner. My only intention is to remain unwed, as I do not aspire to matrimony."

Edward's broad shoulders slumped. "I am sorry to hear that, old friend. I know your first experience with the institution wasn't a pleasant one, but I can assure you marriage contains the potential for great joy. You just have to find the right woman."

"I shall keep that in mind," Jasper said through gritted teeth. The conversation had gone beyond uncomfortable and was steering towards outright pain. He had already found the right woman, but the only way he could continue to have her in his life was by keeping their relationship a secret. The lies of omission he had been forced to make pierced both his heart and conscience like shards of French shell casings. Having to deny his true feelings for Alice and diminish the value of their relationship to mere friendship was a travesty. Although it wasn't as great as the one he would be perpetuating if he convinced her to give up her life's work to marry him.

Facing the reality that he and Alice could never be husband and wife, and that the hours they shared in private were inevitably numbered, Jasper silently cursed the vagaries of fate and his friend for reminding him of what he would forever miss. With his mood having swung from euphoric to despairing, he bid good day to his employer-cum-tormentor.

"Please give my regards to your family." Jasper offered a stiff bow.

"And you." Edward surprised Jasper by walking with him down the hallway. "Speaking of family, Isabella has decided to hold a pre-Christmas party for our closest friends, and she asked me to invite you and your mother and sister. It is to be a luncheon with parlour games afterwards, so Peter is welcome. In fact, I suspect he's to be the guest of honour, as I have heard mutterings from the cooks about creating an entire menu with his needs in mind. I am sure you will be receiving an official invitation shortly."

"Thank you." Touched by his friends' efforts on his son's behalf and their willingness to include his extended family, Jasper forgave Edward his unwitting offence. His mother would be overjoyed at the invitation. He just hoped Penelope would be up to attending. "Please tell your lovely wife we hall be happy to accept, though I am sure my mother will insist on penning a response."

"I am sure she will." Edward smile went from wry to knowing. "My wife's family will all be in attendance, so if you change your mind about wanting to pursue a relationship with Rosalie, it will be the perfect opportunity."

Jasper opened his mouth to argue then huffed instead. He wanted to insist, once and for all, that he had no interest in Isabella's sister. But he feared that would return them full circle, and he would have Edward quizzing him all over again regarding the object of his mooning. He had only just managed to put him off Alice's delectable scent, and he feared his friend's bloodhound sensibilities would soon pick up the trail. If there was any hope of his protecting Alice's and his reputations and maintaining the relationship for the exceedingly long term, as was his desire, Jasper had no choice but to learn the art of deceit.

He offered Edward a tight smile. "Yes, you're right. A golden opportunity. I shall look forward to it."

 **~D &D~**

 **As my grandmother used to say, "Lordie be!" While I do love Jasper's complete inability to hide his feelings, as to the rest . . . all I can say in my defense is that things never seem quite so angsty, or downright convoluted, when you can keep turning the page. There _are_ only six chapters left (good-sized chapters, so still plenty of story), so this can't drag out for too much longer, I promise! **

**xx Elise**

 **PS: I searched high and low and couldn't find any cool Regency Era images of two gentlemen chatting by a fire - or anywhere for that matter - where they didn't look like complete ponces. So, I searched for images of Edward and Jasper, and I found a few that fit this chapter quite well, other than the clothes and they're both a bit young looking. I also found some lovely Alice and Jasper images, again not with the right clothing, but they show their feelings for one another. They're on my Facebook group page, Elise de Sallier's Stories if you're interested.**


	27. Betrayal

**Hold onto your bonnets, ladies. The angst is rising and there be a dreaded cliffie ahead!**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 25**

 **Betrayal**

To Alice's disappointment, Jasper wasn't able to visit her in private as often as they would have liked. Sneaking out late, after his household was finally settled for the night, should have been a low-risk undertaking. But Lady Whitlock appeared to have a sixth sense about these things and was inevitably waiting up when he returned home in the early hours. After the second time, she commented on his less-than-respectable condition, noting that he carried the aroma of lavender upon his person.

"That is a pity," Alice murmured when he repeated his mother's comments a few days later and asked that Alice _not_ adorn herself with perfume prior to his next visit. "The lavender perfume is my favourite, one of Edith's recipes."

"I am sorry," Jasper said in a low voice outside the door to Penelope's room after Alice had been in to check on her. "But if it is any consolation, I think your natural scent is superior to a manufactured perfume."

Ducking her head, Alice hid her smile. "Tonight, then?" she asked, peering up at him through her lashes.

"Tonight." He took the risk of brushing his lips to her cheek, but they quickly sprang apart at the sound of a servant's approach. It was only when they were tucked away in her cottage, late at night with the door securely locked, that they could fully lower their guards, their intimate encounters an ongoing revelation. The contrast between their public and private demeanours was so marked that Alice found herself marvelling at the freedom they enjoyed. Each time they were alone together, the reserve they maintained in public dissipated in a rush of kisses, caresses, and tangled limbs. She had heard whispered stories of rakish men possessed of legendary prowess in the bedroom, but in the beginning, Jasper's innocence had almost matched her own. One of the many things they shared in common was they were quick studies. Still, his initial hesitancy had been endearing, and when he told her that night that she was his first true kiss, her eyes filled with tears.

"It is not an activity one engages in with ladies of the night, and Maria wasn't the least interested in my attempts at showing affection." He shrugged a bare shoulder then rolled onto his side to face her. "Kissing you in the carriage on the way home from the christening ball was, until recently"—he waggled his brows—"the highlight of my experience when it comes to passion."

"I couldn't resist any longer, but I was worried you would judge me for my forwardness," Alice admitted.

Her comment came immediately after she had instigated a particularly vigorous bout of lovemaking that had begun the minute he had removed his cloak. After she had virtually attacked him, he had taken her against the inside of the hastily slammed front door, her legs wrapped around his waist. When they had recovered, and his clothes and her nightgown were discarded, they had progressed to the dining table, a small but thankfully sturdy affair. With her hands leaning on the table behind her, she'd had the supreme pleasure of watching his glistening member entering her body again and again while she had cradled his hips with her raised knees.

He had thrust more slowly that time, his movements measured and his breath coming in pants as harsh as her own. The sight and feel had been extraordinary, her body suffused with pleasure and her limbs reduced to the consistency of jelly. When she had grown weary, he had slid his arms beneath her knees, taking the weight of her legs and holding them high and wide. Knowing how much he liked to nuzzle and suckle at her breasts, an activity with which she was equally enamoured, she had thrust them forward for him to enjoy to both their hearts' content.

It was a good thing the night was stormy, or the combination of her delighted cries and his guttural groans would have awoken the neighbours. Still, it was a relief when he denounced her accusation of wantonness on her part.

"I love you, Alice," he said. "I love everything about you, and I shall _never_ think badly of you for wanting me in return."

It was with a heavy heart she watched him go that night, and it was several days before he called on her again. He arrived eager to recount the events of his extraordinary evening, when the entire Whitlock family had been invited for dinner at the vicarage.

"I imagine Rosalie looked lovely," Alice said then snapped her mouth shut as she helped Jasper off with his coat.

His eyebrows rose. "I suppose," he murmured after a moment. "I didn't pay any attention. To be honest, I was captivated by the extraordinary sight of my mother acting the coquette with the Reverend Swan. She fawned over the girls early in the evening, but after a few glasses of wine, the rest of us might as well not have been there for all the notice she paid us. To make matters worse, the reverend seemed equally besotted. It was most disconcerting."

"Lady Whitlock and the vicar?" Alice shook her head. "But I thought she wanted to see you wed to Rosalie."

Jasper laughed as he took a seat on Alice's well-worn settee then pulled her down onto his lap. "Technically, it is not illegal for one to marry a stepsister, so that wouldn't be an impediment. But I can't imagine my mother eyeing a man of the cloth with a view to matrimony."

Neither could Alice, as the reverend was neither wealthy nor titled. She could only imagine Jasper's widowed mother had been enjoying the opportunity to practise her charms on a willing recipient. As long as it distracted her from matchmaking her son, Alice could see no harm in it whatsoever. She smiled and, hoping the relief wasn't too evident in her features, took Jasper into her arms.

~D&D~

"Mr Whitlock isn't coming?"

Alice tried not to sound too disappointed at discovering Jasper wasn't in the carriage with Peter and his mother and sister the day of Isabella's yuletide celebration. She had feared not being able to attend herself, but Mrs Albert had offered to take her place assisting with a delivery. The mother was experienced, it being her fourth birth, and was comfortable with the middle-aged midwife, so Alice had jumped at the chance to rush home, bathe, and change into her new gown. She had allowed herself the indulgence of half-mourning, the fabric a dark, purplish grey rather than black. It suited her colouring, and the style was most becoming. At least, she hoped Jasper would think so when he saw it.

"My son is busy with his duties," Lady Whitlock said as Alice took a seat on the rear-facing bench beside Peter. "At least, I assume that is the reason he did not return from riding out earlier this morning. He is a grown man and highly cognisant of his duties. It is not my place to keep tabs on him."

 _Not for lack of trying._ Alice struggled to keep the sourness she felt over his mother's interfering manner from showing on her face.

"I do hope nothing has happened to Jasper," Penelope said, and Alice's stomach lurched at the possibility.

"I am sure your brother is well," Alice said firmly in an attempt to reassure them both. "As Lady Whitlock said, he has probably just been caught up with work. He is nothing if not dutiful."

"Yes, I am sure you are right." Penelope managed a smile that did wonders for her appearance. Having put on some much-needed weight, she was looking a fair bit better than when she had first arrived in Forkton. It was early days, and her stamina was still deficient, but that she was up to attending the luncheon was a good sign.

"My brother's position certainly keeps him busy," Penelope continued, her frown returning. "First it was an accident over at that mine in Fulbright, then a fire at the mill, and then a break-in at one of the storage facilities. It seems there's always trouble of one sort or another . . . and danger." She twisted her hands together as she spoke, and Alice didn't blame her for being worried. Put like that, it did seem like there had been a lot of incidents of late.

"The district was in a dreadful state when Mr Whitlock took up his position," Alice said. "He has made incredible strides, and I am sure he will get these matters in hand before long."

Penelope nodded firmly. "And it is not as though he never faced difficulties, and danger, during his time as an officer. In hindsight, it is probably a good thing he didn't spend his younger years as a gentleman of leisure, now that he is forced to . . . well, you know."

The girl lowered her gaze while Lady Whitlock sniffed and looked out the window. Alice internally shook her head at their typically _tonnish_ response to the ignominy of their son and brother being required to work for all of their livings. It wasn't as if he had been reduced to common labouring, his position being one of oversight rather than implementation. But he _did_ receive a salary for his efforts, something no gentleman would abide. Although how it was any different to being paid an officer's commission escaped Alice.

With Penelope's unease proving contagious, Alice sought out Edward upon arrival at the manor in hopes of discovering what had waylaid Jasper.

"He didn't mention anything when I saw him yesterday," Edward said while bouncing David, a big lad for six months, on his knee. "I am sure he will make an appearance before the festivities are concluded, as he won't want to miss out on seeing Peter's eyes light up when the desserts are served . . . all safe for him to eat, I have been assured. I wouldn't worry."

"I am not worried, just curious." Alice managed to sound almost indifferent, though it irked when Edward made a show of commiserating with Rosalie when she expressed disappointment over Jasper's delay. Rosalie might have been a newly endowed heiress, but the undeniably attractive middle Swan sister was _not_ the one sharing Jasper's bed. Nor was she the object of his considerable affection, but the previously sensible girl didn't seem to realise he wasn't interested in her.

Alice had tried not to give Jasper the impression she was jealous or concerned, but she suspected he knew and had been deliberately protecting her feelings, as he had kept his interactions with the younger Swan sisters to a minimum at church the last two Sundays. His mother's interest in the Reverend Swan, and his in her, had turned out to be ongoing, and Alice had hoped it would distract the dowager baroness from matchmaking her son. Watching Lady Whitlock and the vicar talking and laughing together over the course of the delectable luncheon challenged her opinion, until she overheard them discussing his daughter, her son, and a possible alliance.

Was everyone in on the conspiracy to see Jasper and Rosalie wed?

When Isabella pulled her aside and asked for her assistance to convince Jasper he was worthy of courting Rosalie, she was dismayed to conclude that, indeed, everyone was.

"Why would I want to do that?" she blurted before drawing a steadying breath and carefully rephrasing. "What I meant to say is, if Mr Whitlock is not inclined to pursue matrimony, should not we leave the man in peace?"

"Just because _you_ have no desire to wed doesn't mean everyone else isn't living in hope of finding a suitable partner." Isabella laughed, but Alice failed to find the humour in the situation. "Jasper's already admitted to Edward that he is interested in Rosalie, quite besotted, in fact. I am surprised you didn't guess, as you are normally such a good judge of these things. He is just worried about his situation, but Edward has assured him it won't be a problem. Of course, finding an estate manager to live up to Jasper's worth will be nigh on impossible, but I think Edward's even more thrilled by the idea of his best friend becoming his brother-in-law. Can you imagine?"

"Yes . . . yes, I think I can," Alice murmured, grateful she was already seated as she doubted her legs would have held her through this painful telling.

"It is good news all around," Isabella continued with a beaming smile, "as Edward is hoping to acquire the Hunter estate to give them as a wedding present. Rumour has it that rogue Mr Hunter is in financial difficulty now that his bosom buddy Mr Crowley isn't around to help line his pockets. I always suspected the two of them were up to no good together, and while Edward can't prove it, this is one way to achieve a measure of recompense." Unaware of Alice's distress, a glint appeared in Isabella's eyes. "Crowley may have escaped justice, but I shall enjoy seeing Mr Hunter brought low after the threats he made against Papa and the way he treated Tanya. His home is three times the size of the estate manager's residence. Perfect for Jasper and his family, don't you think?"

"Hmm, perfect." Alice mustered a half smile, but she doubted it came anywhere near her eyes. She couldn't blame Edward for wanting to get one up on Mr Hunter, the man who had held a debt over Isabella's father for many years, although he had been instrumental in their being forced to wed. Nor could Alice deny Jasper and Rosalie would make a very handsome couple. Not to mention that her wealth and Edward's generosity would amply restore Jasper's place in society, benefiting his mother, sister, and most importantly, Peter. But it was too much to expect her to be genuinely happy for him, not when her heart was breaking, and her stomach churned with the bitterness of betrayal.

He had not said a word about his intentions. To the contrary, he had assured her, repeatedly, that she was the only woman he would ever love. Since she didn't doubt the strength of his desire, or even the sincerity of his declarations, the only conclusion she could reach was that he planned on marrying Rosalie for the good of his family while continuing a clandestine relationship with Alice. A part of her wanted to rage at him for presuming she would ever agree to such an arrangement. But hadn't she been the one to compare their situation to the Old Testament patriarchs who had readily taken more than one wife when it suited them? He must have assumed she wouldn't be bothered by the morality of their actions, since she was the one who had enticed him to dally in the first place.

Alice did her best to keep up a cheerful front for the remainder of the party, but she wasn't a skilled dramatist—though she was better than Jasper, or so she had believed. It wasn't a lie when she responded to Isabella's query regarding her subdued responses by owning to a nasty headache. Adding to her misery was a growing anxiety over Jasper's continued absence. She might have been furious with him, hurt almost beyond measure and with no idea how to proceed, but she couldn't bear the thought of his coming to any harm.

Rosalie didn't seem too concerned, joining in the charades and other games with enthusiastic cheer. But Alice was on instant alert when the butler entered and drew Edward aside. The grimness of Edward's expression when he turned to face the room caused her to rise to her feet.

"What is it? What's happened?" she asked, hugging her waist.

"There has been another accident at the Fulbright mine. A serious one."

"But I thought it was no longer in use." Alice shook her head. Jasper, with Edward's blessing and assurance that wages would continue to be paid, had closed the mine while he continued his investigations into the strange goings-on. "No one's supposed to go in there."

"The guards Jasper set to watch the place reported suspicious activity, and he went to investigate. There was a cave-in, and it has blocked the entryway to the main shaft." Edward ran a shaky hand through his hair. "One man managed to escape and raise the alarm, but three others are trapped, Jasper amongst them."

 **~D &D~**

 **Oh, the torture of not being able to click next! You know what, you guys are so wonderful and supportive, I'm just going to go ahead and post the next chapter. Please still review, as I would love to see this story break the 2000 review mark.**

 **xx Elise**

 **Pictures of the Christmas party on my Facebook group page - Elise de Sallier's Stories**


	28. Promises

**I have posted two chapters tonight, so make sure you read the earlier one first!**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 26**

 **Promises**

The ringing in Jasper's ears finally faded enough for him to hear the sound of his hacking coughs. He covered his mouth with the hem of his untucked shirt in a vain attempt to filter the air, but it made little difference as his lungs were already filled with the choking dust.

"Sir? Mr Whitlock? Ye be orright?"

 _Hardly._ Jasper turned his head in the direction of the voice, not that he could see anything in the inky darkness.

"Bob?" he rasped between hacking coughs. "Bob Hatton?"

"Aye, 'tis me," said the supervisor who had requested Jasper's presence at the Fulbright mine earlier that morning.

Jasper had known he would be cutting it fine, as he had a luncheon engagement at Masen Manor. But the missive had said the matter was urgent, hinting at the possibility of uncovering the identity of whomever was behind the string of "accidents" and other strange occurrences plaguing the estate.

"Are ye injured, sir? Can ye move?" Mr Hatton added after a bout of his own coughing had subsided.

"I . . . I don't know." Jasper tried to take stock of his position, but his senses had been dulled by the explosion, or whatever it was that had rendered him prone. "Let me see if I can rise." His weak, scrabbling attempt to push himself up brought a groan to his lips. If he had not been aware of the pounding in his head before he had tried to lift it, he certainly was now.

Ignoring the throbbing pain and nausea, he tried again to push up off the cold, rubble-strewn ground but to no avail. His legs were trapped beneath a fallen beam, his fingers catching splinters off the rough timber when he felt for what was holding him down. To his relief, he could wiggle the toes on both feet within his workmen's boots, neither leg shooting through with anything more than mild pain for his efforts.

"Pinned down but not too badly hurt," he muttered between panted breaths. "What about you?"

"Much the same, though I think me arm is broke," the crusty supervisor replied. "I can feel a boot and part of a leg sticking out from beneath the rockfall beside me, so I'm guessing Jack is done for. 'e was standing next to me when she caved."

"Damn." Jasper raised a hand to rub at his eyes, finding a wet, sticky mess. Feeling for the source of the blood dripping down his face, he discovered a sizeable gash above his right eye. "What about the other fellow? Yelson, was it?" Jasper's head swam at the effort required to recall the name of the second of the two guards they had set to watch the mine in hopes of preventing any further sabotage—unsuccessfully, it would appear.

"I don't know about Yelson, sir. He was standing back a ways, so 'e might 'ave escaped."

Mr Hatton's breath was coming in harsh pants, and Jasper hoped it wasn't more than the man's arm that had been injured.

"How long has it been?" he asked, reaching as far as he could but not coming into contact with anything other than cold, damp rock. "Have you heard anything from the other side? Any tapping or calls?"

"Nay, not a sound other than the rock's settling until ye started yer coughing. Right glad I was to 'ear ye were alive. As to 'ow long we've been down 'ere, I couldn't rightly say, but I'm thinking the better part of an hour."

Jasper tried to think, a near impossibility with the continued ringing in his ears and pounding in his head. Further exploration with his fingers revealed a sizeable lump on the back of his skull and at least two more cuts, if the pain and stickiness were anything to go by. With neither man in any state to attempt an escape from their rocky prison, he decided to address the most pressing issue. It took a few goes, as he was enfeebled by the blows that had rendered him unconscious for a time. But he eventually managed to tear a strip of cloth off the bottom of his shirt and tie it around his head to stop the flow of blood. The effort triggered another bout of coughing.

What he wouldn't give for a drink, but he had left his flask tied to his saddle, not having planned on being gone for long. He certainly hadn't expected to find what he suspected was the hidden loot belonging to Crowley, his benighted predecessor.

His mind still struggling to escape the fog of pain and confusion, Jasper vaguely recalled what it was that Hatton had wanted to show him—a chest filled with a veritable treasure trove of misappropriated funds intended for the running of the Masen estate during Edward's absence, along with sundry smaller heirlooms known to be missing from the manor. Hatton had discovered it whilst investigating a small chamber uncovered in the most recent cave-in. They had not long opened the chest when the rumbling began, warning them another collapse was imminent.

Jasper's best guess was that Crowley had hidden the loot before fleeing. He had likely been sneaking in at night, knowing of Edward's refusal to keep the mines open twenty-four hours a day. Whether Crowley's attempts to reclaim the booty had merely weakened the mine or he had deliberately sabotaged it, Jasper couldn't say. But he didn't doubt the man's actions had cost all the recent lives lost.

What Jasper did doubt was whether he and his unlucky companion would ever see the light of day. He had ridden to Fulbright, and his horse was tied in a croft of trees a little way from the mine. If Yelson hadn't escaped to raise the alarm, it could be some time before their whereabouts were discovered. Whilst Jasper doubted either Hatton or he were at imminent risk of succumbing to their injuries—though he could be wrong, considering the intensity of the pain in his head—there was no knowing how long their air would last.

Another groan escaped his lips. He had spent more than two years in fear of losing his son, and now, just as the lad was recovering, there was every chance he was going to leave him orphaned. At least he had his grandmother and aunt to care for him, not that they had any resources with which to do so. He should have asked Edward if was willing to reciprocate, to take on the role of Peter's godfather. Although, knowing his friend as he did, he needn't fear. Edward wouldn't let Jasper's family starve.

Which didn't mean Jasper was ready for death, not when he had just begun living.

"Alice," he murmured into the darkness, closing his eyes against the sting of unwelcome tears.

~D&D~

"How much longer?"

Alice held her breath while she waited for someone to respond to Rosalie's question, even though the answer was unknowable. The men were digging. A body had been found, and they were in the process of retrieving it—not Jasper's body, the two women had been assured. Now they stood, Alice's medical supplies at the ready, in hopes that the next person recovered was alive, not dead.

"Don't worry, Rosalie." Edward wiped dust from his hands and patted his sister-in-law's shoulder. "Jasper is too hard a nut to be easily cracked. We'll pull him out alive, I am sure of it."

Edward turned and disappeared down the dark tunnel while Rosalie dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed kerchief and Alice seethed quietly. They had managed to talk Jasper's mother into staying behind to be comforted by the Reverend Swan and help keep an eye on Peter. But Rosalie had insisted on accompanying Alice and Edward to the mine, saying she could be of assistance and promising not to get in the way.

"I should be there in case Mr Whitlock needs me," she had said.

 _To do what?_ Alice had only just managed to refrain from shouting.

As far as Alice knew, Jasper was barely acquainted with Isabella's middle sister, as it was Tanya, not Rosalie, who regularly visited Peter. Even if he had made polite conversation and the silly girl had misinterpreted his good manners as matrimonial interest, it wasn't as if they had come to any sort of arrangement.

As far as she knew.

Jasper had told her he intended remaining single, but his main reason, that he couldn't afford a wife, would be rendered obsolete if he married into Edward's family. After the revelations of the day, Alice would have to ask him if he had changed his mind and decided to court Rosalie after all. It made sense for him to do so, and it wasn't as if he and Alice had anything more than a secret arrangement based on promises that were far from binding.

"So, you and Mr Whitlock." Alice turned to face the fair-haired woman at her side, speaking softly so they wouldn't be overheard by the onlookers who stood milling around. "Has he . . . have you . . ."

"Come to an agreement? No, but Edward assures me it is just a matter of time." Rosalie's smile was sad, her distress seemingly genuine.

"And you . . . love him?" Alice couldn't resist asking even though the question was shockingly personal.

Rosalie blinked several times then stared at Alice for a long moment. "I think the more pertinent question is do _you_? Is there something between you and Mr Whitlock that I should know about?"

Alice shook her head to dispel the numbness that had blanketed her like a fog. "No, we are just friends. I mean, I have come to _like_ him, of course."

"Yes, he is very amenable." Rosalie's frown lightened. "As long as you're sure I have not encroached on your territory?"

"Not at all." Alice's vision blurred, and she averted her gaze lest Rosalie see the sheen covering her eyes.

"That is good to hear," Rosalie said with a relieved sigh. "I had wondered about the two of you, but you have said, many times, that you have no intention of marrying. If circumstances were different, I suspect Mr Whitlock would be courting you, not me."

Alice couldn't bring herself to deny the other woman's claim. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it? You and I are a lot alike. I think you and Mr Whitlock would have fared well together if he could have afforded you and you had been willing to abandon your profession, so I imagine he and I shall fare equally well. He is a good man, a wonderful father, and he will make an excellent husband."

"Yes, he will." Alice managed a faint smile, spurred by the faintest of hopes. If Rosalie were in love with him, she wouldn't speak in such a cavalier fashion of her intended bridegroom being happily married to another woman. "Since you don't appear to be emotionally attached to Mr Whitlock, are you sure you don't want to wait until you have had your season in London to make such an important decision regarding your future? You are an heiress now. You could find yourself a titled husband, one with political connections that would complement your interests in social reform."

Turning away, Rosalie stared into the dark maw of the mine. "Isabella always said I would have trouble finding a husband, since I am too blunt and can't abide fools. But it didn't bother me, as I never intended to wed. Then I saw how happy Edward made her, and I found my resolve weakening. Spinsterhood isn't an easy path for a woman to travel, but I am aware that gentlemen like my brother-in-law are few and far between. I can't risk marrying a man who will try to . . . to force me to his will." A shudder rippled the cloak draped around Rosalie's shoulders, and she faced Alice. "It is actually your friendship with Mr Whitlock that convinced me he would make a good husband. That and his manner with his son. The two of you didn't start out on the best of terms, but he was willing to put aside his prejudice, and swallow his pride, to ask for your help. That shows good character. Plus, Edward thinks the world of Mr Whitlock, and I trust Edward."

A sob rose up in Alice's throat, one she fought to hold at bay.

Rosalie's logic was sound. Admiration and respect were good reasons for choosing a spouse, but would they be enough for Jasper? Enough for him to marry a lady he didn't love but who could restore his financial position?

Everyone else seemed to think so—Edward, Isabella, the vicar, even his own mother.

If Alice loved Jasper, and Peter, she would want what was best for them both, and that clearly wasn't her sorry self. No one was cheering for Alice, as they weren't even aware of her position in Jasper's life. If they were to discover it, they would be shocked beyond measure rather than supportive. The idea she was his secret wife was a farce, as she had made herself the man's mistress, nothing more. She couldn't begin to compete with Rosalie.

A faint, wavering light appeared in the distance of the dark tunnel into which they stared. In time, Alice made out the form of two of the rescuers half carrying a man between them.

"Mr Whitlock?" Rosalie called while Alice bent to collect her bag. "Is that you?"

"Nay, Miss," one of the rescuers replied. "This 'ere is Mr 'atton, the mine supervisor. 'e said 'e's got a busted arm before 'e lagged on us. 'e said the air was almost gone when we broke through. In the nick of time, we was."

"What of Mr Whitlock?" Alice asked as they lay the bedraggled fellow on a pallet she had prepared. "Is there any news?"

"Not yet. We'll leave Mr 'atton in your 'ands, Miss Brandon, and go back to 'elp the viscount with the search for 'is friend. God forbid something should 'appen to 'im, but 'e refuses to stay back where it is safe."

"Then you must force him." Rosalie grabbed the man's arm. "He is too valuable to risk."

"Easier said than done, Miss Swan, but we'll do our best."

"This is a nightmare." Rosalie slumped down on the far side of Mr Hatton's body. "Isabella won't survive if anything happens to Edward."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Alice muttered, tamping down her own fears and focusing on her patient. An examination of the barely conscious man revealed multiple visible cuts and bruises on his face and hands and a definite fracture in his upper left arm. She wasted no time cutting away the already torn cloth of his jacket and work shirt, relieved to discover no bones sticking through his flesh or excessive disfiguration. If the break was clean, there was a reasonable chance it would heal with the aid of a splint and a sling.

After preparing a draught for his pain, she gestured for Rosalie to help raise the man's head, so she could administer it. Once he had drunk it down, and engaged in a fit of painful coughing, he managed to answer Alice's questions with a few rasped words.

"No, I ain't 'urt anywhere else, miss. Just me arm."

"And Mr Whitlock? Do you know if he is alive?"

"Aye, we spoke for a bit. 'e said 'e was trapped, and I think 'e must have taken a blow to the 'ead, as 'e kept drifting off. Talking nonsense 'e was . . . and praying. Kept asking for ye, Miss Brandon, over and over again, unless there's some other Alice he be frettin' after. Not sure what that was about."

Alice didn't respond to Rosalie's questioning look but lowered her head, so the other woman wouldn't see the tears pooling in her eyes. Turning aside to fashion a splint, she took the opportunity to wipe her eyes in what she hoped was a surreptitious fashion.

"Here, let me." Rosalie knelt beside her and took from her shaking hands the cloth Alice was planning to use for a sling.

"No, I can do it." Alice tried to retrieve it, but Rosalie stayed her with a hand to her arm. A sob rose in Alice's throat, and her shoulders began to shake.

"Shh." Rosalie patted her gently. "I am sure he'll be all right. Edward will get him out safely."

"Yes, of course." Alice reluctantly met Rosalie's sympathetic gaze, her lower lip trembling. "You must think me strange."

Rosalie shrugged. "Despite your protestations to the contrary, I think you love him," she said in a low voice, so they wouldn't be overheard. "And if he's been calling your name, I imagine the feelings are mutual."

Alice considered saying that Jasper was only calling her name because he was in pain and knew she would have the means to provide him relief. But Rosalie was far too astute to believe such a feeble lie.

"Feelings fade, especially when they cannot be acted upon," she said instead, her already breaking heart splintering at the realisation her time with Jasper was over. "An alliance between the two of you would be very beneficial to Mr Whitlock. He is an honourable man. I am sure he wouldn't be planning to propose unless he believed the two of you could make a good match, that he could come to love you in time."

"And you would be agreeable to this?"

"I want what's best for him and Peter." Alice's breath came quickly, her chest heaving with emotions she wasn't quite sure how to contain. What she did know was that if Jasper survived this ordeal he deserved a life that wouldn't put him at constant risk. "Just promise me you will try to love him in return."

 **~D &D~**

 **Gah! That endings not much better than last chapter, though at least we know Jasper is alive. Plus, I think he'll have something to say about Alice's decision to hand him off to Rosalie. My darling hubby (who rarely sees me since I've gotten back into all this 'book' stuff) would like my company, so that will have to do for tonight.**

 **Until tomorrow,**

 **xx Elise**


	29. Formality

**Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews, even if I suspect a few of you wouldn't mind throttling me about now. Onward to the story!**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 27**

 **Formality**

Pain racked Jasper's body from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. Someone had an arm wrapped around his chest and was dragging him backwards across the rocky ground.

"Bloody hell," he muttered and was answered with a familiar, if hoarse sounding, laugh.

"So, you are alive," Edward said between panted breaths. "I was worried I was retrieving a corpse."

" _You_ shouldn't be retrieving anything." Jasper couldn't quite believe that his friend had ignored his limitations to participate in the rescue. Trying to help him, Jasper scrabbled with his hands, lifting his body to save himself some scrapes. But even that small effort saw him drifting back into unconsciousness.

The next time he opened his eyes it was to the welcome light of a dismal afternoon. He was lying on some sort of pallet and being carried out of the mine to a waiting carriage. Edward walked at his side, limping heavily and holding his previously war-injured arm against his chest. The damned fool. Isabella would have both their hides when she learned her husband had risked his life to help dig his friend out of what could easily have become their rocky tombs.

A surge of panic welled up inside Jasper. He couldn't die. Not now that he had so much to live for.

"Alice," he tried to call her name but the sound that came from his ravaged throat was little more than a croak. "Alice," he called again, louder and clearer this time. A soft, feminine hand clasped his on the other side of the pallet from Edward, and relief flooded him. But when he turned to look upon the woman who held his heart, he instead encountered Edward's sister-in-law, Rosalie.

"Where's Alice?" He tugged his hand free, and Rosalie flinched, but Jasper didn't have time to worry about her feelings. He didn't even know why she was there. "Alice!" he called even louder, and to his profound relief, her lovely face came into view.

"It is all right, there's no need to yell."

"Thank God you're here." Jasper caught hold of her hand and held it to his heart. "I thought I would never see you again."

"Mr Whitlock, you have taken a blow to the head. Several actually," she said in the no-nonsense tone she normally reserved for patients.

He wasn't a patient, he was her lover—her sort-of husband. She was certainly the wife of his heart. But before he could say as much, she squeezed his hand, her beautiful green eyes pleading with him to understand some silent message. Oh, that was right. It was supposed to be a secret.

"You have given us all quite a scare, but I don't think you have done any lasting damage," Alice continued, the tremor in her hand the only evidence she was personally affected by his almost demise. "I have stitched up the cut on your head and cleaned and bandaged your wounds. Miss Swan is going to ride with you in the carriage and help care for you once you have reached your home," she added with an odd stretch of her lips that only vaguely resembled a smile.

Jasper attempted one in return, hoping to reassure her that he understood the reason for her distant manner. But then her words registered, and a jolt of pain coursed through him when he tried to rise from the pallet.

"What? No! I don't want Miss Swan looking after me. I want you."

"Please, Mr Whitlock, it is for the best." Alice tried to pull free, but he refused to release her hand. Lowering her head, she fussed with his bandage and murmured close to his ear, "It is all right, Jasper. I know about your plans. I understand."

She gestured with her chin to Rosalie, and he spared the stricken-looking young lady a brief glance. What plans? She was his mother's choice, not his. He only wanted Alice. He had told her that often enough. Didn't she believe him? He would have to do better to prove his love and his loyalty.

"I am sorry, Alice. I shall keep our secret, I promise."

Her trembling lips flattened into a thin line. "I have other patients to attend. You will be fine with Miss Swan. She'll take good care of you."

Jasper opened his mouth to argue, to beg if necessary, but she must have dosed him with something earlier, for the sky above him began to swirl.

"Please, Alice, come with me," he managed to say through the fog dragging him under, his words slurred even to his own ears. To his dismay, she shook her head and pulled her hand free of his weakening grip.

Fighting the encroaching darkness, he vowed to do better, to do anything, so long as she didn't leave him.

~D&D~

Jasper's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped against the pallet, her name a hoarse cry on his lips. Alice kept her head bowed while he was loaded into the carriage, afraid of the expressions she would see on the faces of those standing close enough to have heard. A large hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she awaited Edward's denouncement.

"Are you sure you shouldn't go with him?" he asked, and she was surprised by the compassion in his quiet tone.

Looking past him to the villagers who had helped with the rescue or come to wait for news of family members, Alice took note of the curiosity, and the wariness, in their eyes. Edward might be willing to make allowances, to await an explanation for Jasper's extraordinary outburst before passing judgement. But this was what she feared—rejection from the very people she served, the ones who needed her and whom she needed in return. If this were a simple matter of a private affair being made public, followed swiftly by a visit to the altar to rectify any hint of wrongdoing, she would gladly weather the storm. But owning up to their actions would not see her rewarded with the title of Jasper's wife but a complete loss of the respect she had taken years to earn.

"No, that is all right." Plastering a smile on her face, Alice responded to Edward's query louder than was necessary for the benefit of their onlookers. "I have taken care of his wounds, dosed him accordingly, and will check on him if required. I am sure Miss Swan is perfectly capable of caring for Mr Whitlock with the help of his mother and sister."

"But, Alice," Rosalie said in a low voice. "You heard him. He doesn't want me, he wants _you_."

"Oh, that was just the delirium speaking. Everyone knows we can barely tolerate one another." Alice laughed, a brittle sound. "He has taken a blow to the head and is muddled in his thinking. Now, if you will excuse me, I must check on Mr Hatton, not to mention poor Jack Vine's widow. Then I thought I would use the opportunity to see some of my other patients in Fulbright, since I am nearby. You'll send a carriage to collect me later?" she asked Edward.

"If you're certain that's what you wish." His concerned gaze travelled between Alice and Jasper's prone form, visible through the carriage door.

Afraid she had reached the limit of her abilities to prevaricate, Alice nodded. After allowing herself one last glance at Jasper, she gave Edward and Rosalie a tight smile then turned and walked away, leaving the man she loved in the care of another woman . . . the one he planned to marry.

~D&D~

Spurred by a sense of urgency, Jasper fought his way through the heavy fog holding him down. There was something he needed to do, to set right, regarding Alice. But when he was finally able to force open his eyes it was to find Miss Rosalie Swan seated in the chair beside his bed.

"Alice?" The door to his bedroom was in the process of closing, and he looked towards it then back to Miss Swan. "Don't let her go. I need to speak with her."

"I am afraid that was your mother, not Miss Brandon," Miss Swan said, drawing his attention to her thin-lipped expression. "You have been stirring for a while, and she's gone to request tea be brought to your room. I am assuming you must be thirsty?"

"Yes, I suppose." Jasper pushed himself up on one elbow then fell back with a groan. His head felt like it had been split with an axe, and there wasn't a patch on his body that didn't feel bruised or scraped. He was about to ask what the bloody hell had happened—without the coarse language in deference to the young lady who had, inexplicably, been left alone with him in his room—when it all came back in a rush.

The cave-in at the mine. The young man he had employed as a guard—Jack Vine, if he remembered correctly—buried beneath the rocks.

"What happened to Bob?" Jasper asked. "Bob Hatton, the mine supervisor? Did he get out all right?"

"Yes, though his arm was broken, I'm afraid." Miss Swan smoothed a hand over the blanket covering Jasper's chest. "Alice splinted it and sent him home with a pain remedy and instructions to rest. She seemed confident he would make a good recovery."

"Thank God." Jasper sank back into the plump pillows arrayed behind his head, but he refused to succumb to the darkness threatening to drag him back under.

"Speaking of Alice," Miss Swan said with a lift of her chin. "You would rather she was here with you, not me, wouldn't you, Mr Whitlock?"

"What?" The creasing of Jasper's brow triggered multiple stabbing pains to assault his forehead and the vision to blur in his left eye. Of course, he wanted Alice. It wasn't that he had anything against Miss Swan, or her younger sister for that matter, but he couldn't understand why she was watching over him and not the woman he loved.

A slight increase in his beleaguered mental faculties brought the reminder that his feelings for Alice were supposed to be a secret, as was their relationship. If his piecemeal memories were correct, and God help him if they were, he may have forgotten that vital detail in the midst of his post-accident befuddlement.

A cold sweat broke out on Jasper's skin.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he said, silently praying it wasn't too late to salvage the situation. "I mean, of course I want to see Miss Brandon. She is an excellent healer, and I have obviously been injured."

Miss Swan's pursed lips and pointed look let him know she saw straight through his feeble attempt at prevarication. Hoping to distract her, he asked the question that had been puzzling him since he woke. "I don't mean to appear rude or ungrateful, but why are _you_ here?"

Miss Swan huffed a longsuffering sigh. "Because my well-meaning but clearly misinformed brother-in-law led me to believe that you were interested in courting me with a view to matrimony. He said you were 'mooning' over me."

Jasper sputtered then clamped his lips shut on the string of curses threatening to escape. He had been caught between a rock and a hard place—and that was before the incident at the mine—and had allowed Edward to entertain an entirely incorrect notion, one that had come back to bite him.

"You should have told Edward that Alice was the real object of your interest, not me, and saved us all the embarrassment." Miss Swan echoed his thoughts, if only in part. Admitting to his true feelings had been and remained out of the question.

"She is a friend. Nothing more," he said, repeatedly clutching and releasing the bed cover.

"She is more than that," Miss Swan said with a roll of her eyes. Jasper opened his mouth to protest, and she silenced him with a sternly pointed finger. "There is no point denying it, as you have been calling out for her, day and night."

His cheeks aflame, Jasper lifted a hand to run through his hair but was stymied by the bandage circling his crown. "It appears I have been less-than-successful in hiding my affection for Miss Brandon," he murmured weakly, wishing for a return to insensibility.

Miss Swan snorted, a rather unladylike response, not that he blamed her.

"Which doesn't mean she reciprocates my feelings or has, in any way, behaved inappropriately," he added, holding his interrogator's gaze in hopes of convincing her of his sincerity.

"No one is accusing Alice of impropriety, Mr Whitlock, but I can assure you her emotions are equally engaged. She tried to hide it, but I could tell she was most distressed when she thought you were lost to us. I may not have personal experience with romantic attachment, but I can certainly recognise it in others. Although I can't imagine why a couple who are so ill-suited by circumstance would set their sights upon one another." Miss Swan's expression softened as she stood. "I do wish you the very best, Mr Whitlock, with both your recovery and future endeavours. But I think it is time I departed."

His head pounding like a drum, Jasper managed a whispered goodbye before welcoming the oblivion of sleep.

The next time he awoke it was to his mother's fussing, a head that felt like it was about to explode, and a throat as parched as the driest desert. If nothing else, he would make sure to remain conscious for long enough to drink a cup of tea this time. Unable to resist, he asked for Alice to be summoned, making sure to call her Miss Brandon and explaining he feared his condition had worsened.

To his disappointment, Mrs Albert came in her stead. A capable woman, she assured Jasper that his wounds were on the mend and that the aching in his head would likely subside with rest. Since he could barely keep his eyes open, nor make much sense of what was occurring when he did, Jasper didn't resist the directive to sleep as much as possible.

Five days after the accident, Jasper awoke to find his mother snoozing in the chair beside his bed. He appreciated her concern and the surprising level of care she had bestowed upon him since the accident, but he had hoped to find a different female were watching over him—and not his sister, housekeeper, or maid.

Lord, how he missed Alice. He had asked for her again, none too subtly, he feared. But she had not appeared. At least he had heard no more from Miss Swan, and he took some consolation that she appeared to have accepted his assertion that he and Alice had not acted upon their feelings. If, as he hoped, Alice had managed to keep hers hidden from the general populous, the assumption of an unrequited affection on his part would engender pity and be the source of much gossip—an unpleasant outcome but not one that would result in destruction of Alice's character. He couldn't afford the scandal any more than she could, but the woman always came off worse in these matters. He would never forgive himself if her reputation was lost and career ruined due to his inability to keep his mouth shut.

Heaving a ragged sigh, Jasper knew he couldn't blame her for keeping her distance, but it didn't stop him from missing her, the ache in his heart far worse than the diminishing pain in his head.

A knock at the door had his mother rousing. Upon seeing he was awake, she leaned over and patted his arm.

"That is probably your supper. Do you feel up to eating?"

His appetite had improved, and he nodded, relieved the action didn't cause too much throbbing in his head.

Rather than returning with Mrs Carter bearing a dinner tray, his mother closed the door and came to stand at his side.

"Are you well enough for a visitor?"

 _God, yes!_ he wanted to shout but managed to refrain. Instead, he urged his mother to help him sit up and then took a moment to finger-comb his hair and smooth his beard.

"Do I look presentable?" he asked, making sure the buttons on his nightshirt were all neatly secured. He would have preferred to be wearing his robe, but it wasn't as if Alice hadn't seen him in far worse states of dishabille . . . or nothing at all. The thought brought a smile to his face, but it faded when his mother touched his shoulder and he looked up to see her troubled expression.

"I am sorry, Jasper, but it is not Miss Brandon," she said, and he gulped. That she assumed it was Alice he longed to see was hardly a good sign. The import of her words registered, and his shoulders drooped, a wave of fatigue swamping him in the wake of his disappointment. "Who is it?" he asked, wondering if it was too late to cry off.

"Lord Masen, but I can turn him away if you would rather continue resting."

"No, it is all right," he murmured, touched by his mother's show of understanding. That she would risk disappointing a viscount on his behalf revealed just how concerned she must be for his welfare. But he would have to face the music at some point, and it might as well be while he was already feeling miserable. "Show him in, and thank you, Mother." He caught hold of her hand, and she squeezed his in return.

"You're looking a mite better," Edward said, taking the seat beside the bed once the two men were alone. "Cleaner, at any rate. The last time I saw you, you were covered in an appalling mix of blood and dust."

Jasper blushed at the memory of the sponge bath his mother and Mrs Carter had insisted on giving him. His thinking had not yet cleared by that point, and he feared he might have said he only wanted Alice's hands upon him, not those of a couple of middle-aged widows. He hoped the vague recollection was from a nightmare, though he supposed if had made such an outrageous statement, it fell in the same category.

"So, how's the head?" Edward asked when Jasper didn't respond. "I can leave if you would prefer to rest."

"No, it is all right." Jasper sighed and faced his friend—at least, he hoped they were still friends. "I am not sure if I have thanked you for getting me out of there in one piece. I don't suppose Isabella was too impressed with your joining the rescue party. She will have my hide once I am well enough to take a beating."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," Edward murmured, but his averted gaze told a different story.

Jasper had risked her husband's life and then rejected her sister in quick succession, not to mention brought her best friend's reputation into probable disrepute. It was a wonder he hadn't already been shot where he lay.

"We found the chest of Crowley's that Hatton had taken you to see . . . as well as Crowley himself hiding out in Hunter's barn. It appears as though he's been behind the troubles all this time, wreaking havoc in his attempt to recover the loot he had left behind."

Jasper nodded and tried to drum up a feeling of satisfaction that his murdering predecessor had been caught. His neglect and deceit had cost a lot of lives. "That is good news. I imagine he will hang."

"After a speedy trial." Edward nodded, his expression grim. "Damn fool could have escaped long ago if he wasn't so greedy. His bank accounts were fattened with money he stole from the estate, but he had been wary of padding them too thickly lest he rouse suspicion. He had several hiding places for the loot he had accumulated, but the largest booty was in that chest . . . a not inconsiderable fortune. It is all yours now."

"What?" Jasper's head snapped up. "Don't be ridiculous. You said yourself it is money stolen from the estate. _Your_ estate. _Your_ money."

"Finders, keepers."

"But I didn't find it, Hatton did."

"And he will be well compensated, as will the family of the man who was killed and the one who raised the alarm, but I am giving you the bulk of it."

"Why?" Jasper stared in bewilderment. "I was only doing my job, and if not for the cave-in, I would have returned the chest to you—untouched—immediately."

"I know that." Edward sat forward, a tic in his jaw betraying the depth of his emotions. "You are an honourable man, Jasper, one I am glad to call friend and whom I already consider a brother. Since you are soon to be officially part of my family, it is an easy decision on my part to make sure you no longer have to put yourself at risk. If you had died down there, working on my behalf, I never would have forgiven myself."

Jasper let his eyes close, needing a moment before he shattered Edward's expectations along with his good opinion of him. "I am sorry, Edward." He reluctantly met the other man's gaze. "But I have told your sister-in-law I have no plans to court her, so you and I are not going to become brothers-in-law. I didn't mean to give you the impression I was interested in Rosalie or to harm her in any way. I just didn't want . . ."

"Me to realise you are in love with Alice?" A quirk appeared in both Edward's brow and lip. "I feel a bit foolish for missing the obvious, not that I was the only one. Isabella's equally aghast. Don't worry, Rosalie is fine—she's a pragmatic sort, and I don't believe her feelings were overly engaged. But my wife is rather cross that our best friends felt the need to keep their relationship a secret."

"There is no relationship!" Jasper clung to the lie in hopes of protecting Alice. "I mean, I _do_ care for her." There seemed no point denying it, not after Miss Swan had confirmed his memories of calling Alice's name after he had been rescued were not mere fancy. "I imagine the entire district is aware of the depth of my feelings."

"Oh, I'm sure there are a few shepherds tucked away in the hills who have yet to hear the tale," Edward said with a wry smile.

Heat flushed Jasper's cheeks, but he would bear any amount of mortification as long as Alice came through this unscathed. His family shouldn't suffer, well, not overly, as long as it was believed the attachment was one-sided.

"I tried to keep my feelings hidden, so as not to cause Miss Brandon any embarrassment," he said quite truthfully. "It is a poor showing on my part, and no way to repay her for her kindness to my family. Hopefully reason will prevail, and she won't be held accountable for my lack of discretion."

"You're saying there's nothing going on between you and Alice?"

"Nothing. Alice has done nothing wrong," he said emphatically, not the least bit bothered by the lie as, in his heart, he believed his words to be the truth. The intimacy Alice had granted him was a gift he would forever treasure, no matter that others would not see their actions in the same light.

Edward eyed him for a silent moment then shrugged his broad, undamaged, right shoulder. "After hearing what Rosalie had to say, Isabella is convinced Alice's feelings for you are equally strong, but you are both too stubborn to admit it. She is speaking with her now."

"To what end?" Jasper clutched the blanket, his heart pounding a tattoo in his chest. "I can't afford a wife, not one without a dowry."

"You can now." Edward smiled. "There was close to thirty thousand pounds in that chest, plus I still intend gifting you the Hunter estate when you wed. It is the least I can do for my soon-to-be-brother-in-law."

Jasper shook his head to try and make sense of Edward's words—a mistake, as it set the room to spinning. "But Miss Brandon has made it plain she has no desire to wed. It would mean giving up her work."

"Have you asked her?"

"And have that on my conscience after all she has done, all the lives she has saved—yours included?" Jasper scowled at his friend.

"Yes, I suppose you are right." Edward slumped back in his chair. "It just seems a pity if the two of you find one another agreeable that you can't be together. Life is bloody unfair sometimes."

Jasper smiled, trying to make light of matters. "You are just sorry we won't end up being brothers-in-law, though you do realise Isabella and Miss Brandon aren't _real_ sisters, just close friends?"

"Semantics." The scar that ran down the right side of Edward's face puckered a little with the curl of his lip. "But you don't get out of our new relationship, or accepting the Hunter estate, that easily, brother."

"What do you mean?" Jasper's head ached. Surely, Edward wasn't still expecting him to make a match with Rosalie after everything he had just disclosed?

"It looks like I get to break the news." Edward's smile broadened, though it was tinged with a decidedly rueful air.

"What news?"

"That _your_ mother and _my_ father-in-law have come to an arrangement. They were hoping to see you wed to Rosalie, but when it became clear that was not to be, they recovered from their respective disappointment with surprising alacrity and admitted their feelings for one another. I suspect they are just waiting for your recovery to make a formal announcement. It appears we are to be stepbrothers-in-law. How's that for a mouthful?"

 **~D &D~**

 **I do love this Jasper. He wears his heart well and truly on his sleeve. Now someone just needs to talk some sense into him and point out the bleeding obvious!**

Trina Smusic Patterson has made some gorgeous manips of Edward and Jasper in Regency getup. Come check them out in my group page, Elise de Sallier's Stories.

 **xx Elise**


	30. Turnaround

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews . . . and for all the frustrated ones! From our perspective, the solution seems obvious, but if I kept within the strictures of the times, the odds of these two having any sort of future would be slim. Thankfully, this is fiction and not a historical reference book, so I can bend the rules as far as I like. :)**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 28**

 **Turnaround**

"It's time ye went 'ome."

Alice opened her mouth to argue, but Mrs Albert's hand placed firmly on her hip assured that her efforts would be wasted.

"You're right." She wrinkled her nose at her less-than-savoury aroma. "If nothing else, I am overdue for a bath."

"And a decent feeding." Her assistant, who had become a welcome equal, pressed a cloth-covered dish into her hands. "My eldest just delivered this shepherd's pie I asked her to bake ye. Simple but tasty, not that I expect ye'd look down on basic fare."

"No, of course not." Alice nodded her thanks, annoyed when her vision blurred at the kindness. Although far from alone in the world, she felt increasingly isolated with no one to share the secrets she was holding inside. Edith was gone, and she could hardly admit to Isabella what she had done. The only person she could talk to was Jasper.

No, she refused to think about him. It was the only way.

"Promise me ye'll get some rest?" Mrs Albert asked while Alice donned her coat and gathered her things. They didn't normally express affection towards one another, but Alice found herself leaning into the other woman's side when she gave her a tentative, one-armed embrace. "Ye look exhausted, which is 'ardly surprising considering the hours ye've been working."

Alice didn't deny the accusation. She had worn herself to the bone on purpose, trying to keep herself too busy to think . . . or feel. It was the only way she could bear not being by Jasper's side during his recovery.

The memory of him calling her name haunted her, as did thoughts of their time together, but it wasn't her place to nurse him, not when he had changed his mind about matrimony and had already chosen his prospective bride. Her heart ached at the mere thought of his being with Rosalie, standing proudly beside her in public with their arms linked. Picturing the two of them _together_ , kissing, caressing, and engaged in the intimate acts Jasper and she had only recently shared was enough to make her stomach roil.

For the first time in her life, Alice considered relocating to a different village or district. Starting over would be difficult, but remaining in Forkton, where a day was unlikely to go by without her hearing about Jasper's new family, would be hell on earth—a fitting punishment for her sins but not one she was up to bearing.

At least she had managed to prevent complete disaster, placating the curious and the rumourmongers by brushing off Jasper's outburst after his rescue as the ramblings of a temporarily deluded mind. She had made sure to mention their earlier animosity, but not everyone seemed convinced. The memory of Jasper swirling Alice around the dance floor, laughter on both their lips, appeared to loom large in Lady Brandon's thoughts. She had made a pointed mention of the event just that morning when she had come, in person, a telling fact, to purchase a jar of unguent. It seemed wholly unfair that the lady who had ruined her life once might be the one to do it again. Although the threat would surely ease once Jasper's courtship of Rosalie was made public, as long as Alice and he did nothing to further fuel the flames and the silly man kept his mouth shut.

While she assumed it was the blow to his head that had rendered him void of verbal restraint, a part of her feared that, even once recovered, he would be unwilling to let her go. Despite the brisk, winter air that chilled her bones on her walk home, Alice's foolish heart warmed at the idea of Jasper continuing to pursue her. But there could be no fairy tale ending to their story, only humiliation, the brunt of which she would be forced to bear. If the truth were to come out, Jasper's reputation would be tarnished, but hers would be destroyed.

Alice closed the door to her lonely cottage behind her with extra force. Why was it that men could get away with indulging their passions with little more than a slap on the wrist and a few raised brows while women were painted with a scarlet letter for all time? At least she didn't have to worry about reliving her mother's shame in its entirety, as she had been sure to safeguard herself from the possibility of bearing a child out of wedlock. Although if she _had_ conceived, Jasper surely would have done the honourable thing and proposed.

While lighting the stove that had gone out in her absence, Alice allowed herself the indulgence of imagining a future where she married Jasper and bore his child. Money would be tight, as she would have to give up her midwifery practice, but Mrs Albert was more than capable, and her other trainees were growing in knowledge and confidence, so she would not be leaving her patients in the lurch. Alice could even continue to use her healing abilities in caring for her family. Housewives regularly grew medicinal herbs in their gardens, concocting teas and sharing recipes for remedies that had been passed down from their mothers and grandmothers for generations. That was the foundation of her own much vaster knowledge, so there would be no reason for her to renounce all her skills . . . though their use would be greatly restricted.

Ladies weren't typically proprietors of businesses, but considering Jasper would have to continue in employment if he wed Alice, he _might_ allow her to keep ownership of the shop as long as she had others do the actual serving of customers. At the rate things were going, with apothecaries in both Thornlie and several nearby towns interested in stocking her tinctures and medicaments, her income might even rival that earned by Rosalie's dowry one day.

The thought brought an end to Alice's futile daydreaming.

If Jasper didn't marry Rosalie, he would have to continue working for the rest of his days. His family would never regain its position in society, Peter's options would be limited and, worst of all, Jasper would have to continue putting himself at risk inspecting the mines as a key part of his job as estate manager.

After removing her shoes, Alice curled up on the padded chair she kept close to the stove. As much as it pained her, she had done the right thing withdrawing. Jasper would just have to face the fact, if he hadn't already, that one could not have one's cake and eat it, too.

Awakened by a knock at the door, Alice wasn't all that mystified to find she had dozed off in her chair. That she had been dreaming of Jasper was even less of a surprise.

Standing on stiff and unsteady legs, she was glad to see the fire burning cheerily, though she doubted any amount of warmth would drive the ache from her heart. With a weary sigh, she crossed to the door, looking forward to the day when the villagers went to the store for help from the herbalist on duty and not to her cottage. Whoever it was, she would have to refer them to Mrs Albert, as Alice was in no fit state to assist anyone, not without a decent night's sleep.

"Can I help—" Alice blinked several times when she saw Isabella standing on her tiny porch, the grand Masen carriage parked in the road behind her. "What are you doing here?" she asked, then winced at how rude she sounded. "I mean, come in out of the cold."

"Thank you," Isabella said with a small smile. Once inside, she gave Alice a quick hug then removed her coat and hung it by the door. "Mrs Albert told me you had come home for a rest, that you have worked almost around the clock these last few days."

Alice indicated Isabella should take a seat while she made them a cup of tea.

"What I want to know is why you have not been with Jasper, nursing the poor man after his ordeal?"

Alice opened her mouth to remind her friend that Jasper had any number of nurses, her sister included, but she was cut off with a slash of Isabella's hand.

"Then I would like to know why you let me go on and on about his and Rosalie's being a good match when the man's heart was otherwise engaged! How could you not tell me the two of you had developed feelings for one another?"

Wishing the kettle would hurry up and boil so she would have something useful to do with her hands, Alice wrung them together. The chances of her successfully lying to Isabella were slim, as they had been friends since girlhood and knew each other too well.

"Feelings are irrelevant," she said with another weary shrug.

"You don't deny it?" Isabella leaned forward when Alice took a seat across from her at the little table. "How long has it been going on? What sort of liaison are we speaking of?"

"Mr Whitlock and I may have engaged in a brief . . . flirtation. But it is over now. There was no future in it, certainly not like the one he can share with Rosalie. He has made his choice, not that marriage to me was ever an option," she added, doing her utmost to keep any trace of bitterness from her tone. "He has chosen Rosalie, and she will make him an excellent wife and mother, as well as see his place in society restored."

Relieved to hear a shrill whistle, Alice stood and removed the kettle from the boil.

"Well, here's the thing," Isabella said in a small voice. "It appears Edward jumped to the wrong conclusion. Jasper doesn't want to marry Rosalie—he never did. He wants you."

"Then he is a fool, as he can't have me, nor I him." Alice poured the tea with trembling hands. "Don't worry. I'll have a word with him, help him come to his senses."

"Alice, enough." Isabella's tone firmed, but she waited for Alice to return to the table to continue. "He has made his wishes plain. There's no future for him with Rosalie, certainly not now. My sister is not without pride, though she harbours neither of you any serious ill will. She is more embarrassed than angry and annoyed with Edward for misreading the situation and herself for making assumptions."

"Oh." Alice sighed. She felt sorry for Rosalie, but the girl was young, quite beautiful, and an heiress, so Alice didn't imagine she would have any trouble finding another beau. Once she made her London debut, they had be lining up at the door. What Alice didn't appreciate was the stirring of hope Isabella's revelation had kindled in her bosom. "I am sorry to hear that, as I certainly never meant Rosalie any harm, but it doesn't change the fact that a match between Jasper and myself is not possible."

"I think it is." Isabella's tone was much stronger than Alice was used to hearing from her friend, testament to the confidence she had found since becoming a viscountess. "If it is money you're worried about, you needn't be. Edward is intent on rewarding Jasper for his service and gifting him the Hunter estate, regardless of whom he does or does not marry."

Alice's mouth fell open. "That is extraordinary. Edward's generosity is never ceasing!"

Isabella smiled, seeming quite satisfied.

"But I would have to give up my work," Alice said. While she had only just contemplated that very thing, committing to doing so was another matter. Being an herbalist and a healer was more than just something she did, it was who she was. Between her illegitimacy and profession, even if she retired, she would never be accepted as a true lady, regardless of Jasper's station. If anything, she found it harder to imagine being his wife if he was no longer an estate manager.

Then there was his mother. The dowager baroness had her heart set on Jasper's making a respectable match. The pressure would be lessened if the family was no longer suffering financial duress, but Alice couldn't see her accepting a mere "tradeswoman" as a daughter-in-law.

"You would not be willing to compromise?" Isabella asked.

"No," Alice said with renewed resolve. "No, I wouldn't. The sacrifice would be too great, and besides, I don't belong in that world. Jasper would be better off swallowing his pride and trying to patch things up with Rosalie, though he will soon have debutantes beating down his door once word spreads of his change of fortunes . . . if they are not already."

Folding her arms across her chest in defence of her broken heart, Alice couldn't help feeling sorry she wouldn't be one of them.

~D&D~

Five days after the accident, Jasper was determined to dress himself and leave the house, a specific destination in mind. He would have gone sooner, his recovery be damned, but he had held out hope that Alice would come to him.

She had not.

He understood why. He had let her down with his lack of discretion. While he could blame his initial outbursts on the blows to his head, his ongoing melancholy interspersed with almost manic enthusiasm when a visitor was announced rather gave the game away. He might have been a satisfactory officer, but he would have made a hopeless spy with his heart planted firmly on his sleeve for all to see.

Christmas Day had been a prime example. While he had been up to joining the family in the dining room for a short while, until his aching head had driven him back to bed, he'd had trouble focusing on anything other than concern for Alice. Had she been alone, toiling away caring for others irrespective of the date? He had only breathed easy and begun to enjoy the festivity of the occasion when Mrs Carter had made an oddly pointed but welcome reference to Alice's having requested use of the carriage to attend luncheon at the manor.

"I wish Miss Brandon could be with us," Peter had said, his mouth filled with a tasty mince pie made from the special pastry Mrs Carter had concocted. "That would have been the best Christmas present ever."

Jasper had silently agreed and had been surprised when his mother refrained from making an acerbic remark about the inappropriateness of having an herbalist dine with the family. Instead, she had encouraged Peter to be grateful for the meal and having his family around him, at which point Jasper had attempted to take a leaf from her book.

He had not been looking forward to Christmas, unsure how he would manage to provide a decent spread for both his family and employees after paying their bonuses. But Isabella had delivered an abundant hamper the day before, one Mrs Carter had made good use of to create a veritable feast of dishes both Peter and Penelope could enjoy as much as the rest of them. Jasper had been tempted to decline Isabella's act of charity, but he had decided that was foolish in light of the changes to his family's lot Edward was insisting on making.

A property of his own. A fortune.

If he had only himself to worry about, Jasper's pride wouldn't have allowed him to accept, but he had Peter to consider, and Penelope, as she had asked to stay living with him after their mother married the vicar.

"I still can't believe you are intent on marrying the Reverend Swan," Jasper said when his mother entered the room just as he was contemplating rising.

She took a seat in the chair beside the bed. "I care for him," she replied tentatively. "I married for duty once, and what that got me was four children I hardly ever saw—one whom I lost to an early death and another to wastrel ways—a husband who ruled the roost with an iron fist and cared little for my feelings, and the prospects of a penniless future. I regret that since my arrival here my manner has been less than grateful. I do appreciate the sacrifices you have made caring for Penelope and myself, even before we took up residence in your home."

"But my fortunes are about to change, Mother. You don't have to marry to secure your future."

"You mean marry a man I admire? A kind and gentle man whose company I enjoy and whose face lights up when I enter the room?"

"But you'll be a vicar's wife," Jasper argued, his forehead creased. "Surely you must realise what a come-down that is from being a dowager baroness."

"Oh, I don't know." His mother smiled and smoothed her skirts. "I think I shall quite enjoy the role, and one can always delegate the tasks one finds unpleasant. And do keep in mind I shall also be the stepmother-in-law to a viscount. Edward has promised to be most generous to the 'newlyweds.' "

A bark of laughter passed Jasper's lips. He had been about to demand the woman seated beside him reveal her true identity and confess what she had done with the dowager baroness, but this sounded more like the mother he knew.

"One must adapt in life if one wants to be happy, Jasper," his mother continued after delivering him a reproving look. "You have managed several transitions successfully, although I think there is a major one you are yet to make."

Jasper shrugged. "I am sure I shall adjust to having my own estate and more than two pennies to rub together."

"I was speaking about the possibility of your experiencing a happy marriage."

Jasper sighed and patted his mother's hand where it lay on the bed beside him.

"Sorry, Mother, but that ship has sailed. While I concede Miss Swan is an admirable young lady, I don't have tender feelings for her, and I have no intention of marrying for convenience again."

"What about marrying for love? It has become obvious to me that your feelings for Miss Brandon run deeply. I have watched your heart breaking at her continued absence, and it has pained my own."

Jasper stared at his mother in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing while a look of chagrin appeared on her face.

"I may not always have been the best of mothers, but I do care for you, Jasper, and I want your happiness. As soon as you are well enough, you should go find Miss Brandon and beg her to marry you at her earliest convenience."

"But I can't marry her." Jasper's eyes closed against the pain of his words.

His mother tilted her head to the side. "Indeed, her heritage is not ideal. But Miss Brandon is very well-respected in these parts. Despite my previous misgivings, you shall not hear a word of condemnation pass my lips, I promise."

He gave his mother a sad smile. "Thank you, but that is not why we can't marry. It is Alice's profession. I can't ask her to give it up."

"Then don't." His mother sat back. "I know it is a novel approach for most gentlemen when it comes to dealing with their wives, but you could offer her a compromise instead of an ultimatum. She has the village women she's trained to whom she can delegate when necessary, and she appears a more-than-capable businesswoman. With some realistic expectations, and a little help from nurse maids and the like, I'm sure she could manage her household and career satisfactorily."

Jasper gaped for a moment before blurting, "But it is not done for a lady to work in such a field. In _any_ field for that matter."

"Isn't it?" His mother raised an elegant brow. "It is true that members of the gentry aren't supposed to get their hands dirty, but if you had not taken on the work of an estate manager, we'd all have been relegated to the poor house. In some circles, your position would have been irreparably lowered, but Viscount Masen seems to enjoy creating his own rules." His mother's expression mirrored Jasper's earlier wry smile. "I know it is the height of hypocrisy, as in the past I would have been the first to look down my nose at anyone daring to flout convention. But it is interesting how quickly one's opinion can change when the shoe is on the other foot. You thrive on activity and purpose, Jasper. The events of last week notwithstanding, I suspect you will miss working for the viscount."

"I shall," Jasper admitted readily. "Although he's intimated we shall continue to work together for the betterment of the district, something I look forward to."

"And not a soul will think less of you for it, as I suspect neither will anyone think badly of Miss Brandon if she continues to make her formidable skills and talents available to the community."

Jasper wasted almost an entire minute scratching his head before his mother's implication struck home, and his jaw dropped.

"I could marry Alice?"

 **~D &D~**

 **I won't humiliate myself further by asking who saw that coming, as I'm pretty sure you ALL did! I'm guessing not _too_ many thought his mother would make such a turnaround? **

**Until tomorrow my lovely readers,**

 **xx Elise**


	31. Conviction

**This isn't the longest chapter I've ever written but it is definitely one of my favourites. I hope you like it as much as I do.**

 **xx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 29**

 **Conviction**

Alice didn't look up to see who had entered the shop when the bell over the door jangled. She was too busy serving customers and doling out advice, and she would deal with the newcomer when it was their turn.

At least, that was her intention.

When the small crowd quieted, including Mrs Brown, who was not known for keeping her mouth closed unless she was eating, Alice took only mild interest. It was probably Edward, as the tall, brooding viscount continued to have that effect on the villagers, irrespective of his generosity. Despite his elevated status, he was not one to expect others to kowtow, nor would he take offence if Alice didn't acknowledge him immediately.

Continuing to wrap the herbal tincture she had prescribed for Mrs Jenkins' colicky grandson, she only looked up when the middle-aged woman took several steps to the side and a large bunch of what could only be hothouse roses intruded upon her vision.

"Good heavens," she murmured, wondering what Edward was about. He had done more than enough to show his gratitude for her role in securing both his and his family's future, and she would have thought the time for overt displays was long past.

"There is really no need—" she began before the identity of the flower-bearer registered on her consciousness and robbed her lungs of air.

"I think there is," Jasper said, lowering the bouquet to reveal his neatly coiffed hair, a well-trimmed beard, and a high, starched collar. The only thing marring his handsome visage was the neat row of stitches above his eye and the discolouration that stained his forehead and upper eyelid. Five days after his temporary entombment, he appeared well on the way to recovery, but that didn't stop Alice's heart from lurching in alarm at the sight of him. Only the day before, Mrs Albert had reported that he was still wobbly on his legs and suffering both dizziness and recurrent headaches.

"Mr Whitlock! What are you doing up and about? You should be resting."

"You are probably right." Jasper laid the flowers on the counter then gripped the edge with a shaky hand. "But I gave up hope of your visiting, and for what I have in mind, it hardly seemed fitting to summon you."

"If it is thanks you're wanting to express for my assistance after the accident, there's no need. I was only doing my job."

"Be that as it may, Alice, I am most appreciative." He shocked her with his use of her Christian name and intimate tone. "But that's not why I am here. I have come to implore you to forgive my reprehensible degree of obtuseness. I am so sorry."

"Mr Whitlock, please." Alice glanced to the curious band of onlookers, offering them a tight smile. "I have no idea to what you are alluding and fear you are not yet of sound mind after your ordeal. It is common knowledge that one such blow to the head, let alone several, can muddle a person's cognitive capacity."

Jasper smiled, softly at first then wider in that way of his that caused her stomach to flutter and her skin to grow warm and tingly.

"I don't doubt that is typically correct," he said, leaning against the counter. "But in my case, I believe that suffering a concussion has helped bring me to my senses. After facing the possibility of my early demise, I came to the realisation that I do not wish to live without you in my life. So, I am here to propose . . . for which I require privacy—" He looked to their eager eavesdroppers, not a one who had vacated the premises since his arrival. The action had him swaying on his feet, and he added in a tone tinged with alarm, "And maybe a chair."

Several of the younger ladies cried out, which was of no use whatsoever. Fortunately, while Alice was racing around the counter, Mr Derekson, who had accompanied his wife on a trip into the village, caught hold of Jasper before he could fall. The burly farmer then manoeuvred him until he was safely ensconced in a vacated seat.

It was obvious to Alice that, regardless of his declaration, Jasper had not come to his senses but been rendered reasonless. She had witnessed such things before, where a severe enough blow to a patient's skull wreaked irreparable damage to the functioning of their brain.

A most unprofessional sob caught in her throat, as she knelt before Jasper and took hold of one of his hands. A small part of her cautioned that if she exercised restraint there was a slim possibility she could escape this debacle with her reputation dented but not demolished. Jasper's clearly not being in his right mind would be a powerful defence against his outrageous revelations. But while he might be well-respected in his role of estate manager, he was _her_ beloved, and Alice found she could do naught to hide her concern.

"Mr Whitlock . . . Jasper . . . you are not well. You should not have ventured so far from your bed, as I fear you are suffering a delusion."

"That I am in love with you, my darling Alice?" He raised a hand to caress her cheek. "There is not a doubt in my mind that my feelings for you are both genuine and destined to last for the rest of my days. My only regret is I did not see reason sooner."

His tender gaze was almost Alice's undoing, and it took all her willpower not to throw her arms around his neck and hold him close—that and her acute awareness they were not alone. Before she could respond, though heaven alone knew what she could possibly say to such a declaration, a troubled frown replaced his adoring expression.

"I fear you may be partially correct about my lack of mental acuity, as I appear to be botching this proposal. Aren't you supposed to be seated and I kneeling?"

"Our Alice doesn't mind. She's a strong 'un," Mrs Brown said before blowing her nose into a large, chequered handkerchief. "You just keep on going, Mr Whitlock, with them sweet words, and I'm sure ye'll get the answer ye're after."

A chorus of sniffs and murmured agreements followed, and Alice looked up to find the butcher's wife wasn't the only one whose eyes were leaking like a sieve. The situation was clearly irredeemable, but she would deal with the ramifications later, her priority Jasper's well-being.

"How did you get here?" she asked in a gentle voice while rubbing the back of his hand. "Did you come in the carriage? I shall fix you a posset then ask Mr Wickers to help me escort you home."

"Not before I have your response," Jasper said firmly then smiled again. "Although I do like the sound of your coming home with me, but as my wife not my nursemaid. Did you know that Mother approves? So does Penelope, who is feeling better by the day, thanks to you. Peter is over the moon, of course. He wanted to come with me and ask you himself to be his new mother, but I told him a man has to do some things alone."

His smile fading, Jasper took note of the encroaching audience, and they took a collective step back.

"So, what do you say?" He turned back to Alice, who was close to weeping herself. While his words were enough to entice the birds from the trees and weaken even Alice's resolve, she wondered what, if any, forethought was behind them. It was as if he had forgotten every promise he had ever made her.

"I don't think ye've actually asked 'er anything yet," said Miss Lacey, a slight lass who had wormed her way between two of the stouter customers. Her words were followed by a chorus of agreement.

Jasper's head, which had begun to droop, snapped up. But before he could make matters any worse than they already were, though Alice doubted that was possible, she spoke up, her voice shaky but determined.

"Mr Whitlock, do you not recall the discussion we had outlining the reasons an alliance between us would be ill-advised?"

His eyes widened. "Yes, I do! I can't afford a wife, and you can't give up your very important work."

The murmurs that followed this statement were of both sympathy and agreement, and Alice's heart sank. Even her customers could see the situation was hopeless.

"Precisely," she said, her voice shaking. "Which is why we must continue in our perfectly respectable relationship as _friends._ "

Claiming they were mere acquaintances would be a bit far-fetched under the circumstances, but Alice's hope was their rapt audience would make allowances and, more importantly, accept her sanitised version of events. Other than Jasper's avowals of affection, he had not said anything too shocking, but she didn't trust him not to make reference to their intimate encounters considering he was clearly not compos mentis.

"I don't want to just be friends, damn it!" he said, proving her point and eliciting a collective gasp of shock at the coarseness of his language. Realizing his mistake, Jasper's expression turned contrite. "Forgive me, Alice. I must be muddled, as I have got this all wrong. Mother will be cross, as she warned me to address your concerns first." He shook his head then winced and rubbed his brow. "No, don't go anywhere." He grabbed her arm when she would have risen to fetch him something for the pain. "I am not sure how long I have got before I pass out, and I need to explain. Plus, I don't want to leave you in any doubt as to my intentions. Will you hear me out?"

"Very well." Alice allowed him to take both her hands in his, though she couldn't help wondering if he would even remember what he had said on the morrow.

"My darling Alice." He repeated his earlier endearment, eliciting a flood of warmth in her chest and a veritable chorus of sighs. "Rest assured that I can, indeed, provide for you, as Edward is giving me the Hunter estate and the better part of the fortune Crowley had squirreled away. My pride would have forbidden my accepting such largesse, but he is insisting, as we are soon to be stepbrothers-in-law—can you believe it? My mother is marrying the vicar?"

He shook his head and swayed alarmingly, while his revelation triggered a cacophony of sound as their audience responded to the astonishing news. Alice was equally stunned but did not respond, too busy making sure Jasper didn't fall off his seat.

"Do you know the ridiculous part of all of this?" he asked once he had steadied, one hand resting on Alice's shoulder. "I could have married you anyway, and I am a feeble-headed fool for not seeing it sooner."

"Seeing what?" Alice felt like she was the one who had received a blow, as she struggled to make sense of his words.

"That between my salary and your income, we'd have managed fine. It is not as if either of us have extravagant tastes, and we both enjoy what we do. I am actually going to miss it, though it will be nice to have my own estate to oversee."

"But . . ." Alice shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. "Jasper, you are forgetting that wives of gentlemen cannot engage in paid employment."

"So, don't take a wage." He shrugged as if the answer was obvious.

Alice opened her mouth to refute his suggestion then snapped it shut. Was it that simple?

"If I had been continuing as an estate manager, I would have argued that I am not a proper gentleman and, even if I was, it is nobody's business but ours," Jasper continued. "But since we shan't need the money, the case is moot. Ladies engage in charitable works all the time, and what could be more beneficial than caring for the health of a community? You have been taking a more supervisory and teaching role anyway, but if you want to see patients directly, that is fine by me. I would only request you leave the middle-of-the-night visits to your coworkers, unless you allow me to accompany you, as I would not get a lick of rest for fear for your safety."

Alice's vision blurred. "You would do that for me? You would allow me to continue with my work?"

"Alice, I would give you the world if it were in my power to do so, just please say you will be mine."

"I already am," she whispered, ignoring their audience and cupping his dear face.

"Ye 'ave to ask 'er proper like," someone called, and Jasper nodded, his love-struck expression sobering.

"Alice Brandon, will you marry me? I promise to cherish and care for you with every breath that leaves my body and support you in all your endeavours. I believe, with all my heart, that we can make a marriage work."

"I know we can," she said with conviction. "My answer is yes, Jasper. Yes, I shall marry you, though I might have you ask me again when your brain is not quite so addled."

"With pleasure," he murmured, drawing her into his embrace to the sound of cheering and applause.

 **~D &D~**

 **All together now: one, two, three . . . awwww. At least, that's how I'm feeling. I love that moment when Jasper says, 'Don't take a wage,' as I can just picture the look on Alice's face when the penny drops. :)**

 **Last chapter will be up tomorrow. I'm going to miss these two, but I'll make sure we get to revisit them when I tell Rosalie's tale which I'll be writing next . . . and yes, there will be an Emmett! I was planning on writing quite a few outtakes of this story from Edward and Bella's perspective, but I've decided those two could really do with a sequel, as there is a lot more of their story to tell. I'll hopefully get to it after Rosalie's story, though I'm also eager to tell Tanya's tale. It involves a ship voyage, pirates, and a very unlikely betrothal. What fun!**

 **Until tomorrow,**

 **xx Elise**

 **PS: It's not too late to vote for Passion and Propriety over at TwiFanFictionRecs for Top 10 completed fics for February. *pretty please?***


	32. Heartfelt

**Hi Everyone!**

 **Here we are at the final chapter of Duty and Desire! I'm so glad you all enjoyed the proposal scene. From someone who has suffered more than her fair share of concussions, I think Jasper did rather well all things considered. :)**

 **My thanks and a crazy, long-ass A/N are at the end for those who are interested.** **  
**

 **xxx Elise**

 **~D &D~**

 **Chapter 30**

 **Heartfelt**

The sun provided no great warmth but cast a pleasant glow on Alice's wedding day. Waiting until the spring to formalise their union had been onerous but necessary, as Jasper had needed time to take possession of his new home. Less than twenty minutes' drive from the village, the Whitlock Estate, as it was now known, had a grand but not overly ostentatious home. Situated on a sizeable acreage, it contained both farmland and a small tract of forest that boasted abundant wildlife. Its already pleasant outlook was further improved by a meandering stream that, at a point near the house, formed a pond. The servants' quarters took up the rear portion of the second floor and were more than adequate for Jasper's expanding retinue of staff, while the stables and adjoining carriage house were equally sufficient. The only drawback was the interior of the home, which had been in dire need of refurbishment.

Once Alice had accepted the seeming impossibility, she had been impatient to become Mrs Whitlock. She had tried to convince Jasper she wasn't the least concerned about such trivialities as outmoded styling or faded fabrics. But he had insisted the bulk of the work be done before he bring together both new wife and current family in the house they would make their home. It also gave him opportunity to train his successor.

Another of Edward's retired military comrades, Simon Galbraith, had returned home from France intent on finding a new place for himself in the world. Of good but not lofty family, he had jumped at the chance to work for his previous senior officer and appeared both eager and capable. He also seemed rather taken with Penelope, whose health was greatly improved. Although any assumption that the relationship would develop beyond a shyly expressed mutual admiration was premature. To Alice's frustration, Jasper had admitted to possessing reservations about the development, as Mr Galbraith was devoid of fortune or estate.

"As were you until recently," she had pointed out with a cool tone and raised brow.

"But she is my sister," he had said. Apparently recognising his error, he had been quick to add, "And lacking the skills you possess that would have complemented an estate manager's role. With Harold having abdicated his familial responsibilities, it is up to me to care for Penelope."

"I understand, but she is not a child. You must let her decide her future for herself," Alice had insisted. "Poor health has robbed her of her youthful opportunities, and she is approaching the age of spinsterhood. If she wishes to marry a _lowly_ estate manager, then that is her right."

Jasper had admitted to being more concerned about how the couple would get by. Without the burden of supporting extra family members or never-ending payments to visiting physicians, the generous estate manager's salary would be close to sufficient. When Edward had mentioned bestowing a dowry on his new stepsister-in-law—the vicar and Jasper's mother having already made their way to the altar—Jasper had given up worrying about his family's happiness and decided to focus on Alice's and his instead. Unfortunately, that hadn't equated to a willingness on his part to move up the nuptials as she would have preferred.

The wait might have been easier if they had been able to continue with the clandestine element of their relationship, an option they had discussed in discreet whispers on the night of the betrothal dinner Edward and Isabella had hosted for them but had sadly discounted.

"I know we are already committed to one another, and I am not saying what we did was wrong." Jasper had rubbed the back of his neck while eyeing her warily. "It is just that it doesn't feel honourable to, er . . . meet secretly, now that we are just weeks—"

" _Nine_ weeks," Alice had interjected, and they had sighed in unison.

"Yes, _nine_ weeks away from being officially wed."

"Plus, it would be awfully risky now everyone is watching us like hawks," she had conceded.

His expression glum, Jasper hadn't argued. Their acquaintances, intimate and otherwise, were now attuned to the fact their relationship had swung from adversarial to affectionate. It made negligible the chances of their getting away with more than an occasional stolen kiss. With no choice but to exercise restraint, they had put the time to good use making plans for their future.

They had decided that providing a younger sibling for Peter was high on both their lists of priorities—a discussion that had engendered rather incongruous blushes and no little joy. The possibility of impending motherhood had motivated Alice to make some significant changes to her work practices. That she was as eager as Jasper to indulge in an actual honeymoon helped influence her decision-making. While her work would always be important to Alice, and she intended maintaining a hands-on approach where possible, delegation had become her byword.

"Ye're not to worry about a thing," Mrs Albert had insisted just the day before the wedding, though it was far from the first time the words had departed her lips. "Between the other ladies and meself, we've the midwifery, 'ome visits, and shop well-covered. Ye're to enjoy yer 'oneymoon, do ye 'ear me? I've 'eard Brighton is lovely this time of year, or are ye taking the waters at Bath? The Lake District is meant to be very beautiful, but it is probably a bit soon in the year to be travelling north, and it is a long way. Where exactly are ye 'eaded?"

Alice had laughed and kept her answer vague, namely because she didn't know the answer. Jasper was keeping it a secret, merely assuring her they would have a wonderful time during their three weeks away, and she was not to worry about a thing other than packing a trunk. Somewhat disgruntled, she had explained that a lady needed an indication of where she was headed and what might be required of her to know what to place in the blessed thing.

"Hmm." Jasper had stroked his beard before answering. "Day dresses and walking shoes, as there'll be ample sights to see; a fancy gown or two, as we shall dine in style of an evening before attending the theatre, opera, or whatever other entertainments are available; a ball gown for the dances we shall attend." Lowering his head so that his mouth was close to her ear and whispering so they couldn't possibly be overheard, he had added, "And nightwear that is easily removed, as I plan on spending as many hours as possible with you naked in my arms."

Walking down the aisle of the Forkton village church on Edward's arm, she forced aside thoughts of her soon-to-be marital bed and focused on the solemnity of the occasion.

Alice could have followed custom and kept her nuptials small and for family only. But while she had no desire to make herself the centre of attention, to exclude the villagers, amongst whom she had made her life these past years, hadn't sat right with her. To her relief, the crowd wasn't excessive, and seeing her friends and coworkers occupying the rearmost pews of the chapel, Alice returned their smiles with one only slightly less broad.

Upon reaching the benches where the more august members of the local society were seated, she tempered her response so as not to appear gauche. Cynthia and Reginald, her half-sister and half-brother, met her gaze with warmth in their eyes, but she chose not to dwell on her stepmother's cool demeanour. Disappointment blighted the older woman's features as she rued the fact her legitimate daughter had missed out on the opportunity to marry the son of a baron, stepbrother-in-law to a viscount, and newly enriched gentleman. That Jasper had never once shown interest in Cynthia, or any of the other single young ladies the district had to offer, did not factor into her pique, but Alice was unmoved.

Catching Rosalie's eye might have been disconcerting, but the lady so many had wrongly assumed held Jasper's affection did not avert her gaze when Alice passed by. A bright smile from Tanya and a more subdued but still evident one from her soon-to-be mother-in-law—the former Lady Whitlock and newlywed Mrs Swan—cheered Alice as she neared the front of the church. But it was Peter's beaming smile and the exuberant wave of his little hand that touched her the most. He had been overjoyed when, together with Jasper, she had told him that she had accepted his father's proposal and was to become his mother.

Drawing a steadying breath, Alice looked up to see Isabella standing to the left of the altar, waiting for her arrival. The vicar gave Alice a soft smile of greeting and assurance, then she turned her head the fraction required to meet Jasper's gaze.

Her step faltered, and she blinked back the tears of joy that welled in her eyes. He looked so handsome, his golden hair gleaming and well-muscled physique filling out his wedding attire in a manner that caused her heart to beat faster. But it was the love shining unabashedly from his eyes that gave her the confidence to make the final few steps to his side.

The ceremony itself passed in something of a blur, though on one level Alice knew she would recall every word, every phrase, and every look of adoration that passed between them.

For a woman who had been rejected by society and then made her life over completely, she had never expected to have the chance to reconcile the two aspects of her heritage. But here she was, marrying Jasper, a gentleman reborn, before God and man, their vows heartfelt and for all the world to hear.

~D&D~

"I thought we'd never get away." After a final wave, Jasper let the curtain fall across the carriage window and turned to face his wife.

His wife.

Oh, he liked the sound of that.

"I hope Peter will be all right while we are gone." Alice worried at her lower lip, and while Jasper appreciated her concern, all he could think was how much he wanted to draw the abused flesh into his mouth and sooth it with his tongue. He had not kissed her, well, not _properly,_ in so long, he couldn't help wondering if the reality could possibly do the memory justice.

"Peter will be fine," he murmured, drawing Alice into the circle of his arms. "My mother has Penelope _and_ both Isabella's sisters to assist her in caring for him, not to mention Mrs Carter and the Reverend Swan's—Charles'—staff."

Shaking his head, Jasper wondered how long it would take for him to become accustomed to having a stepfather, one who insisted they now address him by his Christian name.

"My only concern," he continued, smiling ruefully, "is that the lad will be spoiled beyond salvation by the time we return."

"Three weeks isn't terribly long." Alice patted Jasper's arm, offering reassurance to them both. "And a little extra coddling won't do him any harm."

"It is the ideas Tanya is sure to put in his head that have me worried. For a vicar's daughter, that girl has a desire for travel and excitement like none other."

"That she does." Alice's smile faded, and she reached up to softly stroke Jasper's bearded cheek. "Although I must say, I am looking forward to enjoying our own adventure, starting with where we shall spend our wedding night. Must we travel far?"

"No farther than the finest inn Thornlie has to offer," Jasper whispered against her lips. "So, we have less than an hour to wait."

"Whatever shall we do with the time?" Alice's breathless tone was almost girlish, which matched her giddy thoughts.

"Oh, I don't know." Jasper rested his forehead against Alice's while his hands caressed her upper arms. "I can recall an unforgettable carriage ride when you asked me for a kiss. Would you care to repeat the request?"

Alice thought back to that fateful night, recalling the courage it had taken to act in such a bold manner, albeit with a man she had come to care for a great deal. Despite Isabella's revelations about the joys of marital intimacy, Alice hadn't understood what she was missing. All she had wanted was one kiss, to store away its memory like a keepsake. She'd had no intention of pursuing anything further, and there were times when she found it hard to believe she had given herself to Jasper without their being legally wed. She supposed she should feel guilty, but rather than suffering under a load of condemnation over their unconventional beginning, she viewed it as a gift from above.

As for the opportunity to kiss Jasper, considering they had barely managed to steal the occasional peck throughout the weeks of their engagement, she was more than eager.

"I do believe I would like a kiss," Alice murmured, her arms encircling his neck. "It is your duty as my husband to oblige me, is it not?"

"My duty." Jasper brushed his lips softly over hers, a sweet remembrance of the first, tentative touch of their mouths all those months before. "My desire," he whispered, sharing her breath before capturing her lower lip and suckling it between his own. "And my delight."

With one hand cradling the back of her neck and the other pulling their bodies flush together, he deepened the kiss. His tongue slid along the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, welcoming his heat and the insistent strokes of his tongue. Considering his words, she found herself in complete agreement.

If past experience was anything to go by, she fully expected that sharing her life with him would, indeed, be an absolute delight.

 **~D &D~**

 **So, there we have it. Fret not, we've definitely not seen the last of our lovely new family, as I will make sure to visit them in the coming tales and see how they are faring. :)**

 **I would like to say thank you very, very much for your incredible support for this story. To those of you who normally only read Edward and Bella stories, thank you for stepping outside your comfort zones. To those who read the Twific version here and also purchased or borrowed the original version on Amazon, your generosity and support are truly humbling. And finally, to those who left reviews, either here or on Amazon...you guys are the best.**

 **xx Elise**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Aforementioned, crazy-ass long Author Note. Feel free to skip unless interested -**

 **I am not a huge fan of plot lines where the main couple are kept apart for some convoluted reason or due to some easily resolved issue, and I'll readily agree that this story strayed well into that territory. I would like to give you some backstory as to why this occurred. Four years ago, when I wrote this story, I was very unwell. My neurological issues were causing me a world of trouble, and the doctors all told me recovery of any sort was unlikely. I have beaten the odds before, but things were looking bleak. Assuming this story would be the last I ever wrote, I wanted to finish it, but it was such a struggle, I had to simplify the plot to do so. To be honest, I was quite nervous about sharing it with you all, as despite it receiving some surprisingly positive reviews back when it was published, I was worried it might be rubbish. While there were definitely some frustrating patches, I am relieved to have discovered it wasn't half as bad as I'd expected, and I am quite proud of that proposal scene. :)**

 **For those of you wondering how I have managed to return to writing again, on top of having Fibromyalgia, Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), and suspected progressive Neuro-degeneration, it turns out I suffer badly from EHS - Electromagnetic Hyper Sensitivity. This used to be called Microwave Sickness by the military, who have known about it for decades as it affected their radar operators. Basically, EHS is an allergy/sensitivity to hi frequency microwaves which are emitted by cell phones, tablets, laptops, any blue tooth device, and of course, wifi modems. I always knew these devices bothered me, as too much time near any of them caused me headaches, burning eyes, and blurred vision as well as aggravating my neurological symptoms, so I tried to keep my distance and my use of them to a minimum. Over the years, that has become more and more difficult, as the devices have become stronger. The newest generation of wifi modems, in particular, are incredibly powerful-hundreds of times stronger than the first generation of devices brought out only a decade ago-as their signals are designed to penetrate far beyond the walls of a single dwelling. Keeping my distance became impossible and their effects increasingly severe.**

 **During a bout in hospital this time last year, the neurologists and neuro-psychiatrists warned me that my cognitive decline was accelerating, and I could expect to suffer worsening hallucinations, aphasia (inability to find words for speech) and memory loss. We weren't sure if the EHS had anything to do with it, but in a last ditch attempt to stave off what felt like the inevitable, my darling husband found a little rundown cottage for us to live in with some space between us and our neighbours. He then spent countless hours nailing expensive EMF (electro-magnetic field) shielding mesh to the insides of all the external walls and windows. We also purchased ridiculously expensive shielding material ($140 for a metre square!) and I used it to make a multi layered beanie type hat to wear to protect my head. Yep...just like one of those paranoid, conspiracy theory types they portray in the movies! After much debate with our internet provider, we were able to set up an ethernet only connection for my computer, which we also shielded, and we bought a low EMF TV screen to use as a monitor that I sit well back from. Our last purchase was some expensive prescription glasses with a 'blue light' shielding built in, plus we replaced all our eco-friendly globes with old fashioned halogen globes. Then, I did my best to stay away from high wifi environments-which is quite isolating, as you can imagine-wore my silly hat 24/7, and we waited to see if our efforts would make any difference.**

 **They did!**

 **It took months, but I slowly recovered beyond all expectations. I have gaps in my long-term memory, still struggle with my short-term memory, suffer from head tremors, have a partially paralysed face, and odd-sounding speech. When stressed, the aphasia returns, and I can't speak much at all. But, I no longer have constant headaches and burning eyes, my mind is much, much clearer, and this is the awesome part, the creative part of my brain is working again! I cannot begin to tell you how overjoyed I am to be writing and sharing my stories with you all. It has done wonders for my battered self-esteem, and I can't stop smiling. My hubby is so happy for me, though he does feel like he's 'lost' me a little, and I have to remind myself to take breaks and enjoy his wonderful company.**

 **For those of you wondering how I manage to work, as I know I've mentioned it before in relation to when I hurt my knee, a few years back when it became obvious I would never be returning to my career as a school counsellor, we bought a little delivery business. I make up the orders and handle all the emails, and my hubby does the deliveries. It had gotten to the point, where I was making so many mistakes we thought we'd have to sell and rely on Disability Support alone (eek!), but I am doing much better in that regard also.**

 **So that's my odd tale - well, the more recent part of it. I _know_ I said I wouldn't use my A/Ns as a blog post, but I just wanted to explain where I've come from in relation to Duty and Desire in particular. I'd also like to say what a privilege it is for me to be back here again and how much your support and encouragement means to me. :)**

 **xxx Elise**


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